


A Heart's A Heavy Burden

by goblinkore



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Howl's Moving Castle AU, M/M, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:09:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28385289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinkore/pseuds/goblinkore
Summary: When Jon's cursed by the Wizard of the Wastes for reasons he cannot comprehend, it sets him free. Not in the ways that he'd expected, but life never works like that. With the help of the Wizard Blackwood, his apprentice Sasha and the ever helpful fire-demon who goes by the name of Tim, Jon is going to find a way to reverse the curse.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	1. In Which Jon Learns Of Wizards And Loss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [equalseleventhirds on tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=equalseleventhirds+on+tumblr).



Jon had always been unfortunate. He'd never quite been lucky enough to live a normal life. Instead, he'd been made an orphan at a young age and passed along to his grandmother. She was a woman in the later years of her life, looking forward to her eventual relaxation and retirement. Instead, she reluctantly took on her grandson as her own. It was an odd arrangement, Jon was too young to be her biological child, and everyone in the town knew the horrible events that took his parents from him. His grandmother was a formidable woman, one that took no mess from anyone, and that attitude extended even to Jon. He was a smart child, reaching milestones well before the expected ages, and she seemed to enjoy watching him flourish. She wasn't a cold woman by any means, but it seemed a mixture of the sadness that crossed her face every time she thought Jon couldn't see her and the strain on her meagre earnings caused a lot of friction between the two of them as Jon grew. 

She was, however, an excellent hat-maker and passed that skill onto Jon. He'd spent hours watching her primp and preen the feathers on a lovely fashionable felt hat, or weave the stems of the wax flowers into the straw of a summer explosion that she'd dreamed up herself. When she wasn't making the hats herself, Jon clambered into her chair and took over. It seemed, after a very short while, that she handed off the entirety of the design and construction to him. His skills, he was told by the local ladies that came in for their new high fashion caps and bonnets, were unparalleled. His grandmother eventually gave him a little booth in the front of the shop so that they could see that every minute detail was designed by him, in house.

The profits soared as the word of Jon's talents spread, a young man with a long future of beautiful designs in front of him. As the shop got busier, Jon found himself the subject of a lot of gossip. Was he destined only to be a hat maker in this small town for the rest of his life? He was a handsome young man if you looked at him in the right ways, it was said. Jon never understood what that meant, but it felt like a compliment sometimes. Any woman would be lucky to marry him, and perhaps this should be something that was considered in future for the gossiping mothers for their own daughters. Jon found himself ignoring those words as much as he could. Although, some of them said, he was so unpersonable, anti-social even, and that would not make good material for anyone to marry. Sometimes those words felt comforting, but he kept his head down and focused on the next hat that was to reach the shelves. 

Jon had never been able to sell the hats well, instead just standing awkwardly while the customers preened in front of the mirrors. His grandmother gave up trying to teach him the smooth ways to smile and slip the prices higher on the items, and instead hired two shop keeps to help her run the store while she enjoyed more and more time in the tea parlours and in business meetings to lower the cost of materials for her flourishing business. The shop keeps that had been hired were both slightly younger than Jon, although it was unlikely that this would be anyone's first guess at their ages. The first was Gerry, a handsome young man with a bright smile and a long wave of jet black hair. He spoke about the fashions of London quite a bit, having emigrated from there once his mother had passed, and he still clung to the fashion of the city - wearing long coats, all dark as his hair, and boots that locked around his shins rather than at his ankles. He was friendly, funny on occasion, and one of Jon's best friends within the first month of working at the shop. The other was Georgie, a bright girl in all senses of the word - she lit up the room whenever she walked in, and had a fierce intellect that would often be pointed directly at Jon. 

"Have you heard the news?" She asked, a brilliant beam on her face as she slipped her coat from her shoulders. The door bell above her head tinkled as she kicked the door shut. The dawn had broken a few hours earlier and the sunlight was only now starting to reach the shop front, but Jon had been sat at his booth since he'd woken. She was used to it, walking into the shop to find him already working. 

Jon shook his head, trying not to get too distracted from the intricate embroidering on the hat perched in front of him. "Nope." 

"There's a wizard in town!" 

Jon quirked an eyebrow, not looking up, "What do you mean?" 

"I mean," Georgie slipped under the counter, "there's a wizard in town. Well, probably. There's a moving house up on the hill." 

That caught Jon's attention. He frowned at Georgie, "A moving house?" 

"Yep!" Georgie leaned on the counter and wiggled her eyebrows at Jon, "That's what they're saying." 

"You seen the house?" 

Georgie shook her head, "Not me personally, but I've been told it's the wizard Blackwood!" 

"The wizard Blackwood?" Jon asked, confused by the name. It rang bells in the back of his mind, but he wasn't sure what that meant. 

Georgie rolled her eyes at him, "I told you all about him! He's the one that steals bachelors to use in his spells!"

Jon nodded, not remembering that conversation at all, "Guess I better get married then, huh?" 

"Don't start that! You'll have half the town in here." Georgie laughed, "Between you and Gerry all the girls want to come in here!" 

Jon laughed, finally putting down his now abandoned needle, "You say that like some of them don't come in for you." 

Georgie's cheeks flushed a bright red. "Shut up." 

The morning flowed on peacefully after that, the pair of them exchanging banter whenever a customer wasn't in, although those periods got shorter and shorter as the morning wore on. The town's harvest festival was soon, and all of the people in the town would soon flow out of their houses and into the main square to eat and drink and dance. Jon'd never been that interested in it, but it was fun to watch others get excited about the way that their hats accentuated their features, the ways that they hoped their beaus would flatter them. 

In the middle of the day the familiar figure of Gerry strode into the shop, to help Georgie stem the flow of customers that were gathered at the counter. 

"Hi Gerry!" Georgie gave him a smile and a wave. Jon gave him a smile. Gerry wasn't intimidating per se, but something about his confidence, the way that he did not care to fall into the expectations of the small town made Jon extremely nervous about him. 

There was an old superstition in the town that only children would find their spiritual siblings amongst others of their age, and Jon couldn't help but feel that the two of them were the closest that he would ever come to such a bond. Gerry was his brother, albeit a slightly more interesting to Jon than a blood brother would have been, and Georgie was his sister in all the ways that mattered but blood. It was odd for him to think that he was the oldest of the three of them, although not by much. The unfortunate thing about that, though, was that a similar superstition cast him in the worst of the positions of the three of them. The eldest sibling was destined for failure, for a life where they would never amount to much more than they were born with, the middle child would end up with a happy, prosperous life that would be comfortable and the youngest would go on to explore the world, to have such adventures as the other two could only dream of.

"Heya Georgie. Hey there, Jon, nice to see you out of the corner." Gerry smiled at the pair of them, his dark clothes making his skin pale in comparison. "Any idea what's going on with sales at the moment?" Gerry asked, hanging his jacket up behind the counter as he got ready for his shift. Jon padded back to his little corner and pulled another plain hat from the stack that he had pulled from the shaping moulds that morning, already picturing the design in his mind's eye. He got to work, threading flower stems through the slight holes left in the straw, weaving them so that they would sit still. Georgie was already answering Gerry's question with some long spiel, Jon tuned the noise out as he focused on getting the stems to wrap around the straw to create the image he saw when he thought of the hat's future.

He'd tried to explain it to the pair of them before, that he could look at a hat and know how it should end up, what it would be used for if he could make it exactly as his mind's eye saw it. He knew that the sky blue bonnet he'd made yesterday would help a girl feel not so plain, and that one day she'd wear it to the market and fall in love. The crimson bowler hat he'd embroidered with birds would be worn by a gentleman on the first day meeting his soon-to-be-wife's family, and he'd speak at length with her mother about the standards of hat-makers across the kingdom. He supposed it was just his overactive imagination, the same thing that caused him to daydream when he was younger, but it never hurt for him to do so.

As the days went past, Jon found himself more and more engrossed in the designs he was creating, they were becoming elaborate and beautiful in ways that a few years ago he lacked the skills for. It was proof of progress, and he felt the pride buzzing in his chest when he overheard comments on the craftsmanship of the hats from Georgie and Gerry, and double that when a customer brought it up unprompted. As the weeks wore on though, Jon found this praise did less and less as the designs in his mind became more skilled and harder to accomplish. He started to stay up late into the night to create the images he thought of, appearing red-eyed and yawning as he collected the next batch from the moulds. His grandma said nothing, of course, just happy to have him engaged in an active pursuit of something rather than lounging around and daydreaming, or worse yet, pestering her with questions.

Georgie updated him every time that the moving house was seen on the hilltop, but he found himself less and less able to offer her the responses she wanted. She was so excited by magic, even the mere whisper of it kept her bouncing for days, but Jon found himself growing bored of her updates as the house continued to do nothing and there continued to be no more news of what it was that the wizard Blackwood was doing in their own small town. She didn't begrudge him this though, instead she would just slip her updates into their usual conversations. Jon was grateful for her understanding, he didn't need to explain to her that his interest was almost solely focused on the hats he was making. 

One afternoon as Jon was engaged in fixing a blue rose to a rather full headband, the shop bell tinkled away. Jon didn't move, focused on fixing the flower in place. The usual noises of Georgie or Gerry greeting the customer were nowhere to be heard and Jon pulled himself out of his head space, wracking his brains to think of where either of them could be. Georgie was on her usual day off, she often worked weekends in exchange for some of the weekdays off, while Gerry had called out a few minutes before the bell had rung that he was off to get his lunch at the local bakery. Jon sighed, realising that he would be the only one able to help.

He stood up, his slightly below average height unfolding from behind his small workstation. He looked over at the doorway, in it stood a policeman who took his hat off as he approached the counter. The man looked solemn, almost upset.

"Are you Jonathan Sims?" He asked, his voice scratchy.

"I am." Jon nodded, "What can I do for you?"

The policeman, dressed in the dark blue suit with the silver trim that was standard, looked unsure, as if he didn't know how to say the next part of the conversation. "I am here to tell you that unfortunately, your grandmother has passed away."

Jon's vision swam, he grasped the wooden counter with both hands, his knuckles turning white. "What?"

"She was taken ill in the market place less than an hour ago, rushed to the local doctor but there was nothing that they could do." The policeman's face was round and slightly red. Jon noticed that it looked like he'd missed a spot where he'd shaved the night before, some stubble that was longer than the rest on his face. Why was he fixating on something so insignificant? It didn't matter. His chest hurt, he could feel the wave of emotions bubbling up as he struggled to breathe.

The bell on the door chimed again.

"Heya, I got us both cake- What's going on?" Gerry voice was coming from so far away.

Jon felt himself wobble on his feet, his breathing coming thick and fast now but not enough air was getting into his lungs, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. The world was getting darker at the edges, the conversation happening between Gerry and the policeman across the counter from him was muffled as though it was taking place on the other side of the room. He wasn't able to focus on what was being said. The world swam as Jon rocked on his feet. The door jingled again at the same time as the divider flap on the counter slammed, sending a shock wave through the counter and through Jon.

Gerry's strong arms were wrapped around his waist, already arranging one of his arms over Gerry's shoulder as Jon felt his knees give in. They sank to the ground together, controlled by Gerry's careful movements. Jon was placed down gently, his friend speaking to him but none of the words reached him. It sounded like everything was so far away, and he was so alone. He wasn't sure how long had passed as he'd been sat there, Gerry sat opposite him gently talking him back into reality, before he heard the shop bell go again.

Georgie's voice was a comfort, even if Jon could barely raise his head to greet her as she dashed around the back of the counter to sit with the pair of them. She was already crying, huge droplets running down her cheeks as she knelt beside Jon. She took his hand, and he closed his fingers around hers, bringing himself back to the world that was still going on around him. Gerry offered his hand out over Jon's knees, and Jon took that, squeezing it too.

"We have to close the shop." Jon's voice left his mouth like it was coming from someone else, like he was a ventriloquist's doll.

Gerry nodded, "It's closed, it's just us here."

Jon blinked slowly, "Okay, that's good. I... Uh, I have to make arrangements."

"Not right now, you don't." Georgie shook her head, using her sleeve to wipe the tears from her face. "We're here, we've got you."

Jon nodded, his eyes unable to meet either of theirs. He was still looking at his knees. Georgie took his hand that was already grasping hers in her other hand and raised it to her lips, "We've got you, okay? You don't need to worry about anything."

Gerry squeezed the hand he was holding, "We can help you thought this."

They sat like that for a long time, the three of them holding onto each other. Jon didn't process the discomfort in his legs and back from being sat on the hard wooden floor, or the way that the chill climbed up his spine. He barely even noticed it when Georgie wrapped him in a blanket and the sun set. He didn't move when Gerry set up the fire in the hearth in the back room. He moved only when guided by the solid weight of Gerry into the living quarters above the shop, stumbling on the stairs. They sat in silence on the comfy bed, Jon's back against the wall, and stayed like that until the night fell dark and cold. 


	2. In Which Jon Closes The Shop

Weeks passed in a blur, Jon working all night and selling what he could to make the payments he needed to make. Gerry and Georgie both got part time work elsewhere, Gerry finding his sales techniques made him desirable to the bakers and Georgie allowing herself to finally give in and explore the interest she had for magic. Jon stayed up most nights, the hats now his sole focus. He didn't realise the time had passed and that it was going to be winter soon, that the hats he was selling were flying out of the door in time for the upcoming festival. 

Jon spent most of his time sequestered in his room, sewing and weaving the hats that he could make with ease now. His skills had developed a lot more since his grandmother died, a mixture of the numbness he felt and the way that he was able to focus solely on the designs meant that he'd spent far too many hours hunched over the hats, shaping them until they became perfection in his eyes. Some of them, the ones that frustrated him by not being exactly as they were meant to be, were hanging from the wall in his room. He would occasionally take them down, pulling them from their places and turn them, trying to work out what he could do to improve the way that they looked. 

One morning he woke up to a letter, rather a folded note, slid under the door of his bedroom. He unfolded it and recognised the handwriting before he even saw the scribbled name at the bottom. Georgie had been leaving him food, going to the shops so that he didn't have to, and bringing it down into his kitchen. The note had been left when she'd done her morning run. It read;

_Jon, come see me at the stand in the market place, I have some exciting gossip to tell you, and you could do with getting out of the house. love you. Georgie._

The G on her name was curled over itself, flamboyantly signed off. Jon found himself smiling at the note, even as the idea of leaving the safety of the shop caused his stomach to turn. She was right though, he'd not left the house in a long time, and he'd spoken to no one but Georgie and Gerry since finding out the news of his grandmother's passing, except from the funeral director who'd arranged the service that she'd planned for herself. She'd been like that, prepared for any eventuality. The shop belonged to Jon now, but her things were everywhere. 

Jon looked at himself in a mirror that he'd left hanging askew in his bedroom, the bags under his eyes were dark and deep and his skin was pale from the lack of sunlight. Georgie was doing him a favour by getting him out of the house, he knew that. He nodded at himself, agreeing that this was the best course of action. His clothes were the same as always, a plain white shirt and black, although maybe these were closer to grey, trousers. He'd fallen asleep in them last night so they were crumpled, but the idea of getting dressed again was overwhelming. He ran a hand through his hair, which was now growing long. The tips of his hair were able to touch the top of his ears. His grandmother had never liked that, requesting that he get his hair cut every time it bothered her. 

He slipped out of his room and down the stairs in his socked feet, padding along the hardwood floors silently. Georgie hadn't specified which stall in the market to meet her at, but Jon was almost certain he knew which one she was working at now. Since grandma had died, there'd been more bills than he'd known what to do with to pay and he'd had to cut costs where he could by moving both Gerry and Georgie to part time work. 

In the kitchen, Jon found a basket of fresh bread and a block of cheese. He sliced the cheese and the bread, eating the slice with one hand as he looked over the paper that Georgie had brought him. The headlines were all depressing, speaking of the potential war that would break out with the neighbouring kingdoms, the missing royal who was lost now over a month, and the fact that the Queen had sent her best witch to go look for her. The world seemed to be falling apart faster than anyone could try to put it back together. 

Jon shrugged his shoulders and ate the last bite of his breakfast before grabbing his shoes from the neat rack that they were kept in and slipping them on. His jacket was actually one that Gerry had given him a long time ago, just after he'd broadened out in his shoulders. Jon had never had that problem, he was as thin as a twig. The jacket was designed to be long, but on Jon it nearly touched the ground. He felt safe, swaddled in the jacket. He headed for the back door of the house and stepped out into the fresh air for the first time in a long time, the cold squeezing the breath from his lungs at the same time as the freshness revived him. 

He followed the well trodden path through the town towards the market, realising that people were noticing him as he walked. Although they tried not to make it obvious, almost everyone that saw him had a look of surprise on their faces. He kept his head down as much as he could, avoiding eye contact. He pulled his coat closer to his body, hiding in it as much as he could. Jon wished his hair was longer, so that he could hide behind it. 

Wrapped in his own thoughts, he didn't see the man in front of him before they collided. Jon was knocked back, catching the heel of his shoe on the cobbled streets and was on his way to the ground before a large hand caught his wrist and helped him upright. He looked at the man that had caught him, a tall man with a round, full face and a worried expression. 

"Are you ok?" The man asked, his softly curled hair bouncing with each movement that he made. 

Jon stared at him for a moment, lost for words. "I- Uh, yeah, I'm fine." 

The man smiled and stood to his full height. "That's good, I was worried for a moment I'd made you lose your words. They're important, you know." 

"No," Jon gave him a tight smile, "I'm fine, sorry about walking into you." 

The other man brushed it off, "No worries, but you might want to look where you're going next time." 

Jon nodded, "I will do, I am sorry." 

"So am I." The man shrugged, "I could buy you a drink to make it up to you, would you prefer tea or coffee?" 

Jon shook his head, "Neither, I'm fine, thanks. I actually have a friend to meet." 

"Ah, then I won't keep you." The man said, stepping aside, "Have a wonderful day." 

Jon stepped past the other man, bowing his head, "And you, too." 

Once he reached the marketplace, he saw exactly what Georgie had meant. She was stood next to a stall full of candles and charms, all of them intricately designed. She seemed in her element, bouncing between customers that were lining up for the wares she was selling and the items. As Jon watched she was describing the differences between two styles of candles, one was charmed for good luck and the other was charmed to keep away bad luck, and they were very different. Behind her stood a woman that Jon recognised, someone his grandmother was friends with. She seemed older now, but she waved him over with a smile. He headed to the pair of them and stood awkwardly waiting for Georgie to finish with her latest customer. 

"Hiya!" Georgie gave him a hug, squeezing him like they'd not seen each other in a year, "I'm so glad you came!" 

Jon shrugged, trying to pretend that being here wasn't giving him heart palpitations, "I got your note, so I came. You seem to be loving this." 

"Yeah!" Georgie waved a hand at the stall, "I have no idea what any of these things do really, but I'm learning and it's so interesting!" 

Jon looked at the charms and the candles, not sure what the point of any of them were but nodding along to his friend's enthusiasm, "So, uh, what was the gossip you wanted to tell me?"

She looked confused for a moment before realising what he was asking her, "Oh! Well, I've actually... Uh, sort of found out a few things. They say that the Wizard of the Waste is back, and he's cursing people all over. And," she cast a glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was overhearing her, "They say that the wizard Blackwood is on the prowl again." Her tone went from conspiratorial to joyful in a moment, "But the most important though is that, well, both Gerry and I have been accepted on apprenticeships!" 

The news hit Jon square in the chest, both of his best friends were moving on with their lives. Without him. They weren't staying at the shop. Which made total sense, neither of them had ever planned to stay for all that long, they'd done it out of the need for the money to begin with, and then kindness once he had to start paying them less... It wasn't unexpected, Jon knew, for them to both want something more with their lives. 

"That's great!" Jon said, hoping he was hiding the pain in his chest as he congratulated Georgie. Honestly, he was happy for them both, but the sudden ache of loneliness that overtook him threatened to drown him again, and he'd only just started being able to breathe properly. 

The church bell began to chime, and as he counted the chimes Jon realised with horror that it was much later than he'd thought it was. It was nine in the morning, he should have been opening the shop now. "Georgie, I have to go, I need to open the shop." 

As Jon turned to leave the market square he could feel the worried eyes of his friend upon his back, and the world felt a little bit darker.

**\--**

"Do you want to close early for the parade?" Gerry asked him, leaning in the oh-so-casual way he'd picked up while working at the bakers. 

Jon shrugged, "I don't know. I'm not sure if it's worth me going... I... well, it's not like I would enjoy it." 

Gerry laughed, "You always say that, then we drag you out and you do enjoy it!" 

Jon bent his head, hiding the smile that Gerry had pulled from him. It was true, he never really enjoyed things unless Georgie and Gerry took him. "I suppose I'd better do it then, you know?" 

Gerry gave him a huge, warm grin. "Alright boss! Don't suppose that means I can head out early?" 

Jon mocked a sigh before he put his needle down. "Sure, I'll close up once I'm done with this." 

He watched as Gerry grabbed his jacket and swung it over his shoulders, arms disappearing into the long sleeves. "Alright! I'll be back in a couple hours to come get you, make sure you're party ready! I'll get Georgie on my way home." 

He rushed out of the door of the shop, the tinkling of the bell ringing for a moment after he'd already left. Jon still wasn't sure if he liked that sound or not, the way that it hung in the air made his heart ache a little. He picked up his needle and returned to the hat in front of him, a thick felt beast that he was trying to add a design to that looked something like a rose bush. He got lost in the intricacies of the design for a long while before the ring of the bell made him raise his head. 

At the door of the shop was an older man, with a thick robust beard and the width of shoulders to block the doorway. He was looking around the shop, his nose turned up at the hats he saw. His hair and beard were a dark grey streaked with white, ageing him remarkably, but his eyes were bright and from this distance looked to be a cool, cold grey. Behind him was a skinny woman, a head or so shorter than him, who seemed bewildered by the amount of hats that were perched on the shelves. 

"I don't think he's right about this," the man muttered to the young woman, "Look at these, nothing here is special." 

The woman nodded her head, but said nothing. 

"This one," the man strode into the shop and picked up a pink bonnet, "What's this meant to be?" 

Jon swallowed the uncomfortable feeling that was rising in his stomach and stood up, "That's a bonnet, the lily embroidery was done by hand and the stones you can see on it are actually rubies, to match the colour." 

The man's gaze turned to him, and the discomfort in Jon's stomach trebled. 

"I don't suppose you're the one that made it, are you?" 

Jon nodded, "Yes, sir, I am. I made all of the hats here. I own the shop." 

The man walked towards him, placing the bonnet back on its perch. He was even larger up close, and didn't seem to notice that the shelves on either side of his arms were almost brushing him. He peered at Jon for a moment. "What else do you have?" 

"Just hats." Jon said, "But all of the ones you can see here are for sale." 

"You're wasting my time." The man said abruptly, "There's nothing of value in any of these." 

That was just rude, and Jon felt his temper begin to flair. "That's untrue, many of these hats are incorporated with precious gems, and all of them have hours of hard work poured into them. Why would you come here just to insult my work?" 

The woman that was stood in the doorway frantically shook her head, pure terror on her face. 

"Because," the man said with a cruel tone to his voice, "I always make it my personal job to investigate anyone that sets themselves up against me." 

Jon fought the urge to roll his eyes, "And who exactly are you?" 

The man puffed his chest up and looked Jon dead in the eye, "I am the Wizard of the Wastes, and I don't care for your competition or your attitude. I have come to right that." He seemed to pull something out of the air, although Jon couldn't see anything, and threw it towards Jon. Once that was done, the man looked pleased with himself as the woman over his shoulder looked only more horrified, her eyes going wide and her jaw dropping. 

Jon could feel his resolve faltering as he realised what he'd just done. He'd pissed off one of the greatest Wizards in the country, in anywhere, actually. He tried to think of something that would right what he had just done, something he could say in this situation, but nothing came to him. 

"Let that teach you to meddle in things that belong to other people." He said with a smirk, turning on his heel and heading towards the door, "Come on Melanie, I have other places to be."

The door bell jangled uselessly behind him as he left. Jon brought his hands to his face, groaning into them before realising with a start that something was wrong. He pulled his hands away and looked at them. The skin was wrinkled and sagging, large knuckles protruding and knobbly. He tugged up his sleeves and found that it went all the way up his arms too. With mounting horror he turned from the shop and found the nearest mirror. He had to hobble to reach it, there was a stiffness in his bones that hadn't been there only moments before. 

Standing in front of him, staring back from the shiny surface of the mirror, was an old man. Wrinkles lined his face, the bags under his eyes were permanent now, and dark too. He peered at himself, not recognising the face staring back at him. Except, after a few minutes of looking at the reflection, Jon began to see bits of his own face under the wrinkles. Distorted and aged, but it was his face, his eyes that he was looking into. He realised, quite calmly, that this is what he had expected to see. 

He sighed and turned back to the shop, realising that his friends would be returning to collect him soon. A queasy feeling overcame him, he couldn't let them see him like this. He moved as fast as he could, which was not very fast, to the door and flipped the sign over to read CLOSED. 

With that done, he headed to the back door and closed that, too. He made sure to bolt it shut and sat at the kitchen table for a moment to gather his thoughts. Gerry and Georgie were both employed elsewhere. His hands wouldn't be able to continue to stitch like they had done previously, he would be unable to keep the shop if he couldn't stitch. He thought for a long time before he decided on a plan of action. 

Once his decision was made, Jon stood up, feeling the protestation in his bones, and gathered the food he'd been delivered that morning into a small bag, as well as the set of clothes that had been left downstairs the last time that he'd managed to gather himself to wash things. With that settled he scrawled a note on a scrap of paper and slipped out of the back door of the house. The town was loud and there were many people on the streets, but with his head down, Jon chose the back roads that lead out of the town and up towards the plains. He'd never wanted to stay in the town really, but rather had resigned himself to existence there. And now that there was no reason to stay, he was going to find an adventure, even if it meant he'd have to hunt down the Wizard of the Waste himself. 


	3. In Which Jon Climbs A Hill

The fresh air stopped being a novelty after a while as it whipped Jon's coat around his ankles, and the walk stopped being pleasant after he'd had to stop to catch his breath for the fifth time. His body had never been particularly good at exercise, he'd always been a child that would rather read than play outside, but this was a whole different level. He didn't feel frail, or ill, just oddly cold and stiff. He was heading to the plains north of the town, ready to chase whatever adventure came his way, but the path before him was fairly well trodden and didn't seem to be filled with much adventure at all. 

He was enjoying the smell of the hedgerows, the fresh scent of the wilderness that never quite reached the town. But his back was beginning to ache and his ankles were getting stiff. He thought about it as he shuffled his way over the bridge that passed over the river, the noise soothing his jumbled thoughts. He needed a walking stick of some kind, the sturdier the better. He kept walking, looking out for a stick that would be large enough to help him support his own weight. This was something about being old he'd never considered before, the way that his own body would be unable to support him. 

Maybe his grandmother had felt like this, the way his own bones ached. He'd never considered it. He watched the sticks that were poking through the bushes that lined the path he was walking on, and one jumped out at him a ways down the road. His eye sight had always been bad, he'd been in need of glasses probably for a couple of years, but he'd never gotten around to getting any, and now it was worse. He squinted at the stick as he walked towards it, keeping himself as focused as he could. 

The stick was poking out of the hedgerow at an odd angle, but as he reached up to grab it, he felt something in his back twinge. He wrapped his hand around the stick and tugged it to a more accessible angle he reached for it with his other hand and tugged the whole thing upright. Something on the other end of the stick was caught in the twigs, meaning that Jon had to shake it as he tugged the stick downwards. It wrenched out of the bush with a jolt, popping upright to expose what the thing that he had been tugging was. A scarecrow, dressed in the shoddy clothes that some farmer had cast off, with a head that was made of a... Jon inspected it closer, a turnip. Strange.

"Well, aren't you a weird find." Jon muttered to the scarecrow, "I'm sure you're probably being looked for somewhere... Must have been carried off by some kids." 

He found himself laughing at the idea, a soft and throaty chuckle. With that, he put the scarecrow down, resting against the bush, and continued his walk. He wasn't sure there was much left on this path for him to explore, but the idea of finding something better than the scarecrow excited him. He hummed a tune to himself that he remembered from his childhood, something that his father had sung to him. He didn't remember the words to it any more, but he did remember that the tune and that was enough. 

His bones ached, his back hurt, and he felt freer than he had done in years. How odd, he thought to himself, that it would be a curse that gave him his freedom. 

There was an odd noise from up ahead, a weird whining noise. Like a wounded animal. The noise tugged at his heart strings, urging him on. He looked for the animal making the noise; he discovered a small dog, a mutt, that had a rope wrapped around its neck, legs and part of the bushes. Jon found himself filled with pity for the creature, but he wasn't sure what he would be able to do. The creature was half-wild with fear. He took off his pack and opened it, rummaging in the bottom for the knife he'd packed to cut his cheese with. His fingers brushed it, so he pulled it out and flipped it open to expose the blade. With that, he knelt on the path, the rocks and his knees protesting. The dog pulled away from him, barking and yipping its small warning. 

"Hush, hush, shh," he muttered, "Someone's been real nasty to you before, huh?" 

The knife was too dull to cut through the rope properly, but he sawed at it as he kept talking. "I know this is scary, but I promise you, I'll be here to help you, just shhh. Hush, hush now." 

Jon's wrist was starting to ache as the rope got to the final threads but the dog had calmed down. He wasn't sure if it was his murmuring or the repetitive non threatening motions he was making with the knife, he wasn't going to worry too much about which one it was as he cut through the final threads and freed the poor beast. 

"There you go!" Jon said as he clambered to his feet, "You're a good boy for waiting through all of this, thank you." 

The dog seemed to realise it had been freed and leapt away from Jon as he brushed himself down, unfurling the length of rope behind it. Jon watched as it dashed to and fro, before returning to her with a stick in its mouth. It didn't get too close, but dropped the stick on the path just a few feet away from him. He packed his knife away in his bag and slipped the strap over his shoulder, settling himself back into the walking that he'd been doing for the most of the day. 

He picked up the stick that the dog had dropped for him, realising that it wasn't actually a stick made of wood. It seemed to be a cane of some kind made of a dark, dull metal. Jon tested his weight on it, the curved handle perfect for him to hold in his hand. "Well thank you for that," He said to the dog that seemed to be zipping back and forth across the path in front of him, "This is a very nice gift." 

The dog yipped at him before running from the path up over the plains and out of sight. Jon watched it disappear into the distance, he wasn't sure if it was just the distance that the dog was fading into or if that was something to do with his sight as well. The dog was gone at any rate, but he still had a long way to go. 

Jon put his weight on the walking stick he'd been gifted, and continued his walk up the path. His mind wandered as he walked, taking him far from the stiffness in his bones and the soreness that was beginning to rub at his feet. He thought about all the daydreams he'd had as a child, the adventures he'd go on some day, the discovery he'd make that his parents were actually still alive but they were working for the Queen at such a high level they had sequestered him away in order to protect him from their enemies, and they couldn't risk returning until the kingdom was safe. The thoughts kept him occupied until the pain he felt in his soles overtook them. 

With a heaving sigh, Jon came to a stumbling stop and looked around him. He'd made it to the plains, the furthest from the town he'd ever been. He was perched atop the hill, overlooking the whole town. Each house looked so small, like a dollhouse, and he couldn't make out any individuals in the streets. 

"I can't believe it," he grumbled to himself, "this is the furthest I've ever been, the whole day has been spent walking, and I'm no further away from the town than I was before." 

The wind whistled through the air, agreeing with him it seemed. Jon found a large rock and sat on it, admiring the way that the country fell in front of him. He could see to the south of the town was the road that lead to the Capital, just as the road he was on lead through the plains to the largest town in the nearby area. He felt his stomach grumble, they seemed to be sharing an attitude of late. He pulled his pack from his back and took the bread, the cheese and the knife out. He sliced parts of the cheese at jaunty angles and the bread as thick as he could make it. He wished he's bought some butter, but he hadn't the oilskin needed to transport it safely, and it would have been a waste if he'd spilled it everywhere. 

After a quick meal, Jon felt revitalised. His feet hurt still, but that was to be expected. He'd never walked this far, and he was an old man now. His body felt healthy, even though it was old, there were no pains that couldn't be explained by the recent exercise, no stiffness that wasn't part of the ageing he'd undergone, and no illness that plagued him. He packed his things back in his bag and turned towards the plains. He wasn't sure how he'd missed it before now, but the lumbering bulk of the mechanical beast that belonged to the wizard Blackwood was getting closer to the corner of the plains that his path spewed into. 

The mechanical beast wasn't just any beast, although it had long limbs that bent and turned at odd angles, the bulk of the beast was made of stone and wood. There were windows, thick planes of uneven glass that glinted the fading sunlight at odd angles, and chimneys, high stacks that seemed to be spewing odd fogs and smokes of various colours. The beast looked, when Jon squinted, almost like a house. It would look a lot more like a house if it had an obvious front door or any consistency in the design. Some parts looked to have a thatched roof, while others looked to be slate stones, and yet more seemed to have some odd type of tar texture. The stones themselves ranged in colour from a familiar reddish-brown, all the way into large blocks of what looked like yellow bricks similar to the colour of sand, and others were grey, leaning into white. The wood frames for the windows, the lining of each box of the different house design, were likewise in odd shades that didn't match each other. Some looked to be pine, the pale near-white wood, and others looked to be closer to mahogany, a deep and rich colour. 

The clanking of the mechanical house didn't seem as loud as Jon had expected, he could barely hear it from this distance, but as he watched the creature - the house - move, he could hear it getting louder. Something was pulling him towards it, but he didn't really understand why. Maybe, he thought, the wizard Blackwood would be able to help him undo this curse. He might be knowledgeable enough to at least tell him how to begin, the way to head to go in search of a way to end the curse. His thoughts blurred into each other, a bit of excitement pulsing through his veins. 

Jon hobbled towards the plains proper, stepping off of the beaten path. He took a long, deep breath, and shouted, "STOP!" 

The beast came to a clattering stop. The legs froze, and began to fold in on itself, lowering the base of the beast, the castle, to the ground. Jon hadn't expected that to work and was now at a loss for what to do. He scrambled for a moment before getting his resolve straightened out, and with a conviction that he'd never felt before in his life he shuffled over to the house. Once he reached the base, he looked for a door. He wasn't sure what a door on his house would look like, considering how it was an amalgamation of every style of architecture that Jon had ever dreamed of. 

As he walked around the base of the beast, one hand on the outside of the building, he found himself unable to progress further. It was like a wall had been built in front of him, leaving him unable to move past. He decided, with a sigh, to go the other way around, swapping his cane and the hand he placed on the building. This time it took only a few minutes before he came to a doorway, which he tried to open with a push, then a pull, of the door. It didn't budge. Maybe the back door would? He kept walking, looking for another door. He discovered another about a quarter of a way around the building, but the same issue occurred. With the last of his hope draining, Jon tried again, hoping that the door that he believed would be exactly across from the first that he'd discovered would be open, or that someone would answer if he knocked. 

The final door looked familiar, the same design as the back doors of the shops that Jon was used to in the town that lay below them. This gave him a jolt of excitement as his hand grasped the knob and twisted. The door swung open, but the inside of the building looked dim and quiet. He hadn't expected anything from the wizard Blackwood, but this was absolutely not what he had hoped for. A shiver of dread ran through him before he steeled himself and stepped inside. 


	4. In Which Jon Talks To A Fire

The door had swung open onto a small, warm room. Jon felt the chill that had sunk into his bones fade as he crossed the threshold, but the second that his second foot left the ground of the plains the house, the beast, was already on the move, lurching back into the upright position. Jon gripped the door frame, dropping his walking stick and letting it clatter to the wooden floor beneath him as he held on for dear life. 

"Why would you do that?" he muttered, more to himself than the house, but to his surprise there was a reply from inside. 

"I didn't do anything. What do you want?" 

Jon steadied himself and stood upright, shutting the door behind him and picking up his walking stick. He took a deep breath and walked through the entry way into the main room. What he saw stunned him; dried plants - leaves, roots, fruits - all hung from the ceiling from twine and string, jars of different coloured powders and petals lined the walls, books were stacked almost as tall as he was in lopsided piles on the dark, hardwood floor. Everything was lit from a gentle fire in the hearth, although he couldn't see anyone else in the room. 

There were chairs, two of them, arranged facing the fire at a close enough distance for them to be bathed in the firelight and the warmth. His bones begged for the relaxation, so Jon found himself stumbling to the chairs and sinking into one of them. Now that he was closer, he could see the chair was a dark blue with little ships sewn into the pattern. He ran his fingers over the ships and thought about the sea; he'd never actually been to the sea, but he'd read about it and dreamt about it. The thoughts allowed his full body to relax, and the gentle rolling of the house made him feel like he was on the ship he was dreaming of. His eyes fluttered shut as the weight of the day settled on him.

"Hey, old man."

His eyes snapped open. He looked to either side of his chair, twisting far enough around to look behind him. There was no one in the room. 

Maybe he'd dreamt it, the state between alertness and sleep was one that often played tricks on the mind, especially a mind that was slipping with age. 

He wiggled in place and leaned back into the chair. 

"Hey, old guy, I'm speaking to you." 

Jon frowned. The voice, now that he could be sure wasn't coming from behind him, seemed to be... coming from the hearth. He leaned forwards, peering at the fire that lay there. It was the faint whispers of a fire, the embers just before it died, flickering away in the piles of ashes that fires left behind them. 

"Are you the one talking?" Jon asked, half joking. 

"Well, who else did you think it would be?" The fire answered. 

Jon almost leapt out of his seat. 

"Can you pass one of those logs, just down there." The fire asked, "I was going to ask Sasha but she went to sleep early and I don't feel like dying today." 

Jon nodded mutely and picked up one of the roughly chopped logs that were stacked in a haphazard pile by his feet. The log wasn't heavy, but the amount of stuff that had happened to him today wiped him out almost completely. He dumped the logs into the fire and watched as the flames spread over them. 

He was side-tracked a little by imagining a face in the flames. A thin blue face with a thin nose. The flames that began to curl on top, tinged green, were the hair. There were flames that were tinged purple, almost black, down by the logs that made up a mouth with savage teeth that seemed to be latching onto the logs that he'd placed on the hearth. Curiously enough, the only orange flames in the fire were under the green eyebrow flames, just like eyes, and they each had a little purple glint in the middle that Jon could imagine was looking at him, like the pupil of an eye.

The mind of the elderly was an odd place to be, he thought to himself, "How long until the wizard Blackwood returns?" He asked, mostly out of curiosity to see if the fire creature was a. real and b. as he'd imagined it to be. 

The orange eyes in the flame angled towards him, the purple-black flames disappeared for a moment before the words left them, "He sometimes goes missing for a few days, out exploring the world, but if you stay until morning, he'll be back then most likely." 

"Then I'll stay until morning." Jon nodded, "And I shall ask him what to do about my predicament then." 

The fire raised an eyebrow and leaned closer, the flickering tendrils of flame still far enough away that Jon felt safe, "Your predicament? You mean that ugly curse that's on you?" 

Jon nodded, "How could you tell?" 

"I am a great and powerful fire demon," the fire said in rather a flat tone, "I can see curses as easily as you can see... well, you can't see much with those eyes. But I can see the curse is on you." 

"Then can you break it?" Jon asked. 

"What would I get in return for that?" the fire asked, "You haven't even asked my name, and you're asking me to break a curse on you." 

Jon felt his face flush, "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"Well thank you for asking," the fire said sarcastically, "I am a great and noble fire demon, and there are some that call me... Tim." 

Jon nodded, "Ok Tim, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Jon." 

Tim, the fire, seemed satisfied with that. "Well Jon, what will you give me for breaking your curse?" 

Jon wracked his brains, trying to find anything that he could remember about the stories he'd read as a child. He couldn't remember any stories of the fire demon requesting anything from the humans it was making a deal with, "I... what do you want?" 

There was a moment before Tim responded, he seemed to be thinking, "Your heart." 

"I can't give you that." Jon shook his head, "What else?" 

The response this time was much quicker, "You stay here and break my curse." 

"Your curse?" Jon asked, finding that the warmth of the fire as it had grown was soothing all of the aches and pains he'd collected through the day. 

Tim rolled his eyes, "Yes, my curse. Did you expect a fire demon to just be content with sitting in this hearth all day every day?" 

"To be fair," Jon pointed out as he leaned back in the arm chair, "I have only just arrived." 

"Right," Tim nodded, snapping a smaller twig from one of the logs and chewing on it, "That's true." 

"Tell me about your curse," Jon said as he muffled a yawn, "And I shall try to break it for you." 

"Is that a deal?" Tim asked, his voice crackling as the logs beneath him split and splintered from the heat. 

Jon nodded, the tiredness he'd felt for the latter part of the day was claiming his mental capacities as he sat in front of the fire. "Yes, Tim, that's a deal." 

One of the logs cracked into two parts, splintering right down the middle. "Well, I can't tell you much about my curse," Tim admitted, his voice sounding a little unsure, "because of the nature of the curses neither of us can tell anyone about the curse unless they already know." 

Jon blinked slowly, his eyelids getting heavy. 

"But mine has trapped me here in this hearth to do the bidding of the wizard who owns the place." Tim's face disappeared from the flames for a second, they were all the orange that Jon was used to from his fires, but the face returned just a moment later, "And it's killing both of us."

Jon tried his best to stop his body from falling asleep as he sat in the chair, bathed in the warm waves of the fire. "You're a fire demon trapped here by the wizard Blackwood to do his bidding, and you're dying. Is that about right?" 

Tim nodded. At least, Jon thought it was a nod, with the way that the flames flickered and slipped, he was actually unsure. 

"OK," Jon nodded, the yawn escaping him this time, "How do you expect me to be able to help you?" 

"If you stick around, I'll drop hints wherever I can to help you, but I need you to stay so I can examine your curse and work out how to break it." Tim's voice was sounding far away as Jon struggled to stay conscious. 

"And how do I explain why I'm sticking around here?" 

"We'll think of something," the fire demon explained, "but now I've had some time to examine you, it looks like your curse is a strong one." 

"A strong one?" Jon asked, shifting himself in the chair and setting his feet up against the grate of the hearth. 

Tim rearranged the logs where he could, getting himself comfortable as well, "It seems like it might have been cast by the Wizard of the Waste, or someone of equal power."

"It was," Jon admitted, "he came and cursed me today for meddling in his affairs." 

"What affairs were they?" 

"I don't know," Jon sighed, letting his chin drop to his chest, "But if I ever see him again, I will give him a piece of my mind."

Tim laughed, causing small sparks to fly out from the burning logs beneath him. "I kind of like you, Jon." 

"And I, you, Tim." Jon muttered, his voice barely audible. He slipped into the slumber he'd been fighting and allowed himself to be swept away on the wave of dreams. 

The night passed then, with the two of them slumbering. Occasionally Jon would shift in his seat, eliciting a small snort or sigh here and there, while Tim would rearrange himself on the pile of logs each time they shifted and split beneath his heat and his weight. The house was quiet and still, save for the far-away noises of the house's mechanical movements and the gentle rolling that came with the movements.

The sun rose over the plains, glinting in the early morning dew that littered the grasses and the flowers. The shadows stretched long as the sun climbed in the sky, distorting the shapes of the shadows from their natural shapes into the weird spirit world variants that filled old stories and fairy-tales. The door to the castle swung open and a figure stepped in, wrapped in a dark cloak and shivering from the cold. The figure paused a moment, seeing the slumbering form of the old man spread out on the chair opposite the fire. 

"Tim?" the figure asked, stepping into the small circle of light that the fire made. 

The fire woke up, yawning and stretching his little wispy limbs. "Hi, boss." 

"Aha, funny. Who's this?" The figure asked, gesturing to the sleeping Jon. 

Tim blinked, "That... is... uh... a patient?" 

"A patient?" The figure's voice was disbelieving, but not unhappy. A soft scepticism. He stepped closer and pulled the hood from his head, showing a handsome, round face with warm brown eyes and slightly curled hair. He was a large figure, but not a threatening one. 

The fire nodded, "Yeah, he, uh, needs some help." 

The figure cast as gaze over the old man and nodded, "Wizard of the Waste?" 

"Yep."

"That bastard." The figure heaved a sigh and wiped a hand over his face, "Why would he do this?"

The fire shrugged, "No idea, that's your problem."

"Don't be an asshole." 

"But it looks so good on me," Tim responded, shifting in his heath. The logs beneath him were almost all ash, "Pass another log?" 

The young man nodded and leaned over the older, sleeping man to reach the pile. He dumped the two logs he'd picked up onto Tim and allowed the fire demon to rearrange himself until he was comfortable. There was a beat of silence as the young man, previously the hooded figure, watched the slumbering man. He seemed to be examining him closely, without getting anywhere near him. 

"Alright, Tim." The young man shook his head, "I'll allow this for now, but I am going to bed, and you'll not let anyone wake me until gone midday, okay?"

"Sure thing, boss." Tim gave a mock salute with one of the tendrils of flames he used as arms, "No problem." 

"And make sure that Sasha doesn't... well, interfere too much with whatever's going on here." 

Tim nodded, "I was wondering how to, uh, explain that." 

"Just tell her to shut up about it, it's not something we can explain easily and, honestly, it might not be something we need to explain. Just tell her to keep her head down and get back to her books." 

"Ah," Tim had a fragment of one of the burned logs in his tiny fire hands, holding it like a cigar, "the old 'shut up and study' routine, I got it." 

"What did I say earlier about being an asshole?" 

"It looks good on me?" 

There was a soft chuckle from the young man, "I think you'll find you were the one who said that, but I'll leave you with this and head to bed. Nice work on the fog, by the way." 

Tim gave the young man a nod and settled himself back into a comfortable position before allowing himself to drift off again. The young man walked through the room and up the stairs at the back. His footsteps were light, almost imperceptible, and he left no trail in the dust behind him. 


	5. In Which Jon Finds Out The Wizard's Name

The stream of sunlight through the window that settled on Jon's face was what woke him. Now that he looked around the room in the bright sunlight, he realised how filthy it was actually. There was dust everywhere, almost coating the entire floor. There were faded footsteps, all of them slightly smaller than Jon's own feet that seemed to trail from the stairs, where they disappeared upstairs, to the table that was shoved against one wall and piled high with many odd things, and the other chair that was settled facing the fire.

Jon cast a glance over to Tim, who seemed to be settled on a new batch of logs. Someone had come in and given them to him. Did that mean that the wizard was home? Tim had said he would be back in the morning most likely. Had he missed him? Had the wizard taken one look at him and decided that having an old man in the house would be trouble? If he had, why had Jon been allowed to stay? What would Jon do now if the wizard wasn't going to help him? The thoughts circled in Jon's head until he was agitated enough to start brushing down the table of the dirt and dust.

He did it without thinking, like he always had. Keeping the house and shop clean had been part of his list of responsibilities, so cleaning absentmindedly was a habit he actually encouraged, it meant that he didn't have to worry about as much work being done when he did put his mind to it. As he pottered around the downstairs area of the castle, he watched as Tim turned a brighter and brighter shade of orange and yellow, seemingly waking from his own slumber.

By the time that Tim was cracking his own eyes open, Jon had put almost all of the stuff from the table onto one or the other of the chairs in front of the fire and had raided a storage cupboard for a bucket and some rags. He wasn't sure what of the dusts and potions that lined the walls would be best for cleaning, but for the basic purpose of getting the table clean would be fine if he only used water. He'd gathered some cold water from the bathroom and was on his way back to the table to give it an initial wipe down when Tim seemed to realise what was happening.

"Old man, what are you doing?"

Jon raised an eyebrow, "I'm cleaning, something that hasn't been done here for a long time it seems. Have you seen the bathroom?"

"No, I'm trapped here," Tim gestured around him, "The hearth is the only place I can be in the house."

It made sense, honestly, for the fire demon to be trapped where the fire would be in any house. "That makes sense, but seriously, doesn't it bother you?"

"Not really." Tim shrugged, "I think it upsets Sasha though sometimes."

"Sasha?"

"Martin's assistant."

"Martin?" Jon frowned, "Is that Blackwood?"

"Yeah," Tim's spindly arms flailed in the air as he tried to get his balance on the logs again, "That's his name."

Jon laughed, "Not a particularly intimidating name, is it?"

There was a creek on the stairs as someone descended them, soft footfalls on the way down. Jon was wiping down the table, but stopped as he turned to look at the stairs. The feet that were visible were attached to legs that were mostly on display under some cuffed trousers. As the person on the stairs revealed themself, Jon realised it was actually a young woman. Maybe about Georgie's age, if not younger, and she was rubbing at her eyes. She had a pair of round glasses balanced on her forehead.

"Morning... Tim?" Her voice trailed off as she saw Jon standing at the table, damp rag in hand. "Who are you?"

"I'm the new housekeeper." Jon said without a thought, "Tim hired me."

There was a small sound of annoyance from the flames, but Tim didn't argue.

The girl was pretty, almost bordering on delicate, but her eyes were fiercely intelligent and she took a moment to digest the information in front of her. "Okay, well, if you're cleaning the table, I'll make breakfast."

"That sounds delightful," Jon smiled what he hoped was a kind, grandfatherly smile.

The girl, Sasha, pulled open a drawer that was by the stairs and withdrew a basket covered in a patterned cloth. She peaked in and seemed satisfied. Jon was drying up the last of the water that had been left on the surface of the table with another rag, making sure that the whole table was clean and dry. Sasha dumped the basket on the table and withdrew a loaf of bread and some cheese. The idea was nice, but having eaten that for his last few meals Jon found himself wanting a bit of variety. He had a peep into the basket himself, there were some eggs and a few slices of bacon.

"Don't you want the eggs and the bacon for breakfast?" He asked.

Sasha shrugged, "Of course I do, but we can only make that when Martin's around."

"Nonsense," Jon shook his head, "I can cook."

He picked up the basket and brought it over to the hearth where a glance around the room revealed several pots and pans hung on the wall next to the hearth. He picked one up and tested the weight in his hand, it was solid and sturdy. Cast iron probably.

"What do you think you're doing?" Tim asked, eyeing the frying pan suspiciously.

Jon brought the pan back to the hearth, "I'm going to make breakfast, and then I'm going to clean out your hearth of ashes, it's disgusting."

"Aha no you're not." Tim protested, "I am not letting you do that."

"Well, guess I'll just tell Martin," he stressed the word, but his voice was quieter than before, "about our deal."

If a fire could lose colour, Tim did. His face was what could only be described as pouting and he crossed his arms, sulking like a child.

"Don't throw a tantrum." Jon chided him, "You're being unreasonable."

"Says you," Tim muttered, "You're not the one making this whole castle move and heating up water any time of day and now being used to make breakfast."

"Seems like you do a lot, Tim." Jon acknowledged, "But breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so Sasha and I are going to eat. I'll feed you the bacon rinds and the eggshells, if you want?"

Tim grumbled but allowed himself to be folded down between the logs so that Jon could place the frying pan on top of his head and heat it up. The bacon was thick cut and looked deliciously fresh, the eggs were a perfect pale white and they all looked like they'd have a brilliant flavour to them. He hummed along as he cooked the breakfast, allowing himself to relax a little.

"Sasha, can you find the plates and some cutlery please?" He called over his shoulder.

Sasha seemed to be taking his arrival in stride, "Sure, I'm not sure how much is clean though."

"Whatever you can find for now will be fine," Jon shrugged, "It's only breakfast."

"I thought breakfast was the most important meal of the day," came a muffled voice from under the frying pan.

"Hush, you." Jon whispered, "I'm almost done."

"Be done faster," Tim grumbled.

Jon rustled the pan, "If I do that, I'll burn the eggs."

Once he deemed the food cooked, he brought the frying pan over to the table and plated the bacon and eggs onto the oddly shaped plates that Sasha had managed to find. She had in her hand a fork and a spoon, "Which do you want?"

"You take whichever is best for you," Jon smiled, returning to the hearth to feed the eggs and the bacon leftovers to Tim. "Would you like the bacon grease?"

"I've never had it," Tim shrugged, "I'll try it though!"

Jon poured the oil that had collected in the pan over Tim, watching as the fire demon seemed to grow larger and wilder as he did so.

"So, it turns out I like that." Tim said, crunching on an eggshell.

Jon nodded, "I'll keep that in mind."

He returned to the table and settled into one of the seats. Sasha was already eating her bacon, a book in hand that she was reading as she ate.

"What's that?" Jon asked.

Sasha took a moment to process the question, "Oh this is just one of the books of magic we have, I need to read all of them before I know enough to leave here."

"You're an apprentice?"

"Something like that, yeah." She looked over Jon, "And you're the housekeeper?"

"Something like that," Jon nodded, "yeah."

Sasha pursed her lips, she seemed about to say something, but a thud from upstairs interrupted her. She sighed and raised her voice a bit, "What time did he get home, Tim?"

"About 6am, didn't want to be woken until midday." Tim said, slurping the bacon rind, "But I think all the noise down here might have woken him now."

"It's not that noisy," Jon said, "Unless I'm deaf too now."

Sasha hid a smile, "It's noisier than it usually is with just me and Tim."

Jon acknowledged the truth in that statement, there was a fair amount of chatter between him and Tim. He found himself aware of all the small noises he was making as he ate, with the spoon and the knife from his pack, as he finished his breakfast. The meal was warm and filling, and a really good break from the cheese and bread he'd found himself relying on. It was annoying how much he'd stopped cooking after his grandmother passed, it was not that he was an amazing chef or anything, but the food was much better when it was hot and fresh.

"What are your plans for the day?" Jon asked Sasha, "I'll be cleaning this room, and Tim's grate."

Sasha shrugged, "I've got this book to read, I'll be making potions and lotions and powders for our customers all day and if Martin has any spells for me to learn, I'll be trying those out too."

"Your customers?" Jon asked, "How do you get customers? Does anyone come to the mechanical beast trying to buy things from you? We all heard that the wizard Blackwood was evil."

The girl rolled her eyes, "Oh of course, you're from one of the small towns out that way. Well," She put her book down, "We actually have several shops across the kingdom, but wherever Martin and Tim want the house to go-"

"Just Martin, I don't like moving it." Tim interjected.

"-Okay, so wherever Martin wants the house to go, he sends me out to go and spread rumours that an evil wizard lives here."

"For what purpose?"

Sasha shrugged, pushing some of the hair that fell past her shoulders out of the way, "I guess because he doesn't want to be harassed by customers showing up to the house."

"But he's fine having them show up to the shops you own?" Jon asked, trying to work out the logic behind the choices that the wizard was making.

"Yeah, sort of. The shops are... well, they're accessed through portals built into the front door, so we can just turn them off and not answer them."

Jon was dumbfounded, confused was not quite the word to explain how he felt.

Sasha saw this in his face and shrugged, "Once you understand it you don't think about it much, you'll get used to it, living here."

"Right." Jon nodded slowly, "I better just get to work. I'm not here for chatter."

Sasha nodded and picked up her book, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"London door," Tim said without looking over.

London door?

Jon watched as Sasha sighed, standing up from her seat and pulled what seemed to be her own hair over her face. As she did, a large beard sprouted from her chin and her features shifted, becoming remarkably more masculine. Jon blinked twice, but the beard was still there and the only thing similar about her face that Jon could see was the eyes. They were still her eyes.

"This is what I meant about the doors, by the way." Sasha said, her voice rumbling slightly in a way it hadn't only moments ago.

She walked into the entry way of the house and knocked a little lever that Jon had missed completely when he'd arrived. She swung the door open and there was a gust of stale smelling wind and a wall of noise that entered the house. On the other side of the door stood a man in a shabby uniform that would have been smart previously, he was bouncing from foot to foot as he waited for Sasha to open the door and address him.

"Hi, do you have the potion for my mother's hearing?" He asked, the small frown on his face obvious.

Sasha's new voice was still odd to Jon's ears as she responded, "Yes, just a moment while I get it."

She turned back into the house and glared at Jon, who was open mouthed staring at her and the door. He hobbled over to the entry way and peered over the other man's shoulder, who gave him an odd look too. The streets were paved with blocks of stone, not the cobbles that he was used to, with gas lanterns hanging, unlit, from the iron poles that lined the road. Each of the building was made of red brick, although this all looked shiny and new. It was the capital, although he was a little disappointed to find out that the streets here were not paved in gold like the stories said.

"Wow," He muttered to himself, "How strange."

The man that was stood in the doorway avoided eye contact as Jon turned back into the house. Sasha's shoulders were tight as she ushered Jon out of the way and returned to her customer, taking the few coins that he offered for the potion. When the door was shut Sasha pulled the beard up over her face and she returned to her normal self.

"Try not to freak out the customers, if you can." She sighed, "It's best if they aren't too scared to come to us."

Jon nodded, still stunned by the way that Sasha used her magic so casually and at the way that the door changed with no effort.

"Can I ask a few questions?"

"Sure." Sasha nodded, settling down into her seat again.

Jon paused, unsure how to best word the questions to get what he wanted to know. "So, the disguise, why do you wear that? And what places do the door go to beyond the plains and London?"

"The glamour magic is because people think all great wizards are men and kept asking if I knew what I was doing when I served them as myself."

"Some of them even demanded to wait until Martin came back." Tim interjected. He'd been entertaining himself by blowing small smoke rings before that, which he went back to almost immediately.

"And the doors open to London so we can see the Queen and get rich, and the Plains where the house physically is, and Bornemouth because Martin quite likes the sea, and he's got one that I'm not allowed to use so I don't know where it goes."

"Wales," Tim said, "I bet it goes to Wales so he can get weekend getaways."

"It could do," Sasha shrugged, "He keeps that one locked so only he can use it."

Jon nodded, "Ok, I think that's all I needed to know for now. I'm going to get to work cleaning." He turned to face Tim, "You said you can't leave the hearth, is that right?"

Tim looked worried, "...Yes, that is right."

"Ok!" Jon clapped his hands together and made a mental plan of what he was going to do to get the house in order. He looked around and found that almost everything that he needed was laid out in the room in front of him. He first gathered a metal vase and approached the hearth.

Tim gave him a death glare, "No, no, what are you doing?"

Jon ignored him and picked up the pair of tongs that were settled next to the poker. He snipped them together once just to make sure that they worked, an old habit, and he turned to Tim. "You're not going to leave the heath, but I need you out of the fireplace for a bit so I can clean it."

"You can't do that."

"I need you moved so I can clean." Jon explained, "It'll only be a few minutes."

"No, you can't do that!" Tim was leaning away from the tongs as they approached him, "I don't know what will happen if you pick me up! Only Martin can do it!"

Jon ignored the protests and grabbed the log, now much closer to a burnt twig, that he was clinging to. As Jon lifted the log, Tim was pulled from the hearth and Jon got the first good look at his shape that he'd had. There was a black lump of what looked to be coal surrounded by flame. Jon settled him in the vase and pushed it to the back of the hearth, with Tim out of the way Jon was much more able to clean the hearth.

Next, he pushed the chairs to the side, over by the table, and lay out a large cloth on the floor. Next, he began scraping the piled ashes onto the cloth. The air was filled with the ash as he did, creating a cloud of dust.

"Jon, please hurry up!" Tim cried from the vase, only the top of his flames could still be seen.

Jon ignored the pleas and kept working on the cleaning that needed to be done. When he was satisfied, he pulled the corners of the cloth together and dragged the whole bundle out of the room and into the plains. Once outside, he opened the bundle and let the ash float away. The dust cloud mixed with the fog and smoke that was coming from the house.

He turned back into the house, happy that the hearth was now clear of the piles of ash that had once been there. The protests had stopped coming from the vase, and as Jon approached it, there didn't seem to be any flames from it either.


	6. In Which Jon Is Given Tea

Panic hit Jon's chest like a sledgehammer. The dim light in the vase wasn't enough for it to be Tim, even in the short period that Jon had known the fire demon he'd gotten used to the bright, warm presence. Jon picked up the vase and peered in, the lump of coal was at the bottom, coated in a layer of soft blue flame and pulsing gently. Tim wasn't dead, good. 

There was a movement out of the corner of his eye. He span, feeling the movement jerk his body in a way he hadn't been expecting. Being old was causing him havoc in more ways than one. "I- Uh-" He stuttered as he held the vase with the dimming embers of the fire demon in his hands. 

The young man that stood beside him said nothing, but reached out and took the vase from Jon's hands, holding it as gently as if it contained a new-born baby. He was handsome, striking even. His face was rounded and the stubble that lined his chin looked like it was a few days old. He had dusty ginger-brown hair, that curled in a gentle waving pattern. He was wearing a knitted sweater, something that had clearly been handmade with a lot of love. 

He tipped the jug with the hand holding it and let the hot coal fall onto his ungloved hand. Jon felt sick watching it, sure that the man's hand would burn. The man didn't seem to notice or care, he just held the coal in his hand with a gentle cupped palm. Jon watched as he brought the coal to his mouth and breathed a slow stream over it. Jon watched in amazement as the blue flames flickered into orange ones, growing larger and larger as the man dropped the vase to the hearth and cupped the glowing coal and flame in both his hands. He blew on it again and Tim's eyes opened. 

"That was not pleasant," the familiar voice came from the fire. Jon felt his whole body relax, the palpitations in his chest slowing and ceasing. 

"Thank God." Jon muttered, clutching at his own hands. "I am so sorry." 

The man gave a gentle chuckle, "I'm sure he doesn't mind, do you Tim?" 

"I mind very much," Tim said as he was lowered into his spot again, "Deeply unpleasant experience. Don't do that to me again." 

"I am really sorry," Jon said, feeling his voice crack in his throat as the emotions threatened to overwhelm him, "I didn't know." 

The young man placed some logs atop Tim and let him rearrange himself, "It's quite alright, just be more careful when rearranging his position." 

Jon nodded mutely. 

With the adrenaline rush over, Jon felt weak at the knees. He leaned heavily on the raised stone plinth of the hearth, feeling rather faint. The young man noticed this and took him by his elbow, helping him stay upright the same way Gerry had done only a few months ago, and guided him to the table. Sasha was nowhere to be seen; the table was empty but her books were piled atop each other. Jon sat down heavily on the chair and took a deep, shuddering breath. 

"Now," the young man said, returning to the fire, "If you could give me your name and explain how you ended up in my house almost killing my friend here, I would appreciate it." 

Jon froze, realising who this young man actually was. "You're the wizard Blackwood?" 

"My friends call me Martin," the young man nodded, "But yes, I guess that's one of the names I go by." 

Jon felt like a fool. He'd not only nearly killed Tim; he'd been saved by the wizard he was here to impress... This was not going well at all. "Oh." 

Martin, as the wizard seemed more comfortable being called, unhooked a kettle from the mantle and filled it with water from a jug on one of the sideboards, "Would you like some tea before we talk?" 

Jon nodded, "That would be nice, please." 

"That's good, I would usually be able to offer you coffee instead but we haven't had that in the house since Sasha drank it all." 

Jon gave a weak smile, "I've never really been a fan of coffee." A complete lie, but one that he hoped would endear him to his host. 

Martin laughed, his spirits high and he was seemingly unphased by what had happened with Tim. He hooked the kettle above the place where Tim sat, letting it hang to heat over the flames. Tim grumbled something that Jon didn't quite hear, but it did elicit a shushing from Martin. As he gathered the things he needed for tea from around the room, in placed that Jon would never have guessed to look, Sasha came down the stairs, her gait a lot faster than when she'd come down in the morning, her footsteps heavier. 

She swung around the banisters at the bottom of the stairs, several books under her arm and another open in her hands. Martin moved out of her path expertly, the two of them seemed to be completely unaware of the other but didn't collide like Jon was worried they would. Sasha only seemed surprised when she realising that Jon was sat at the table, at an angle to it actually, with a rather pale face. "You alright?"

"I-" Jon nodded, "I'll be fine, thanks."

"There was rather a lot of excitement just a moment ago," Martin explained, "You missed it." 

Sasha put her books down, "Damn, I miss everything."

"I'm sure that's entirely your fault," Tim said, "You didn't even try to help me before that maniac put me out!"

"He didn't put you out," Martin chided, pulling the now steaming kettle from the hook and pouring it into the teapot he'd collected from one of the many cupboards, "Don't be so dramatic." 

"If he'd put you out, we'd all be dead." Sasha added, flipping open one of the books she'd brought down, "Martin, have you seen 'The Farmer's Almanac' anywhere? I need to check some dates on this spell you've given me." 

Martin looked about for a second before picking up a book from the pile that Jon had dumped onto the comfy armchairs, "This one?"

"Perfect," Sasha grinned, holding a hand out for Martin to place the book into. 

Martin did so, and then scooped the various cups he'd collected and placed them on the table. Each of the three of them were from a different design or collection; one had roses, another had lilies and daffodils for some reason, a design that Jon thought was rather ugly, and a the final one was dusted with stars. Sasha moved her books over to allow for the cups to all be placed at one end of the table, she seemed comfortable enough to continue working as Martin prepared the tea. 

"Anyway," Martin said as he brought the now full teapot to the table, "You still haven't told me your name." 

He took a seat at the head of the table and looked directly at Jon, his face was open and inviting, his eyes warm. Jon felt his stomach roll inside him anyway, unsure of how he should approach his introduction. 

"I," Jon paused, "I'm Jon, I was hired by Tim as your new housekeeper. I'm sorry I got overzealous but the hearth was the first thing that needed to be cleaned so I could work through the rest of the house without getting more dust and ash everywhere." 

The words left him in an untamed flow. Tim had nearly died because of Jon's impatience to prove himself and his worth, but the crux of what Jon was saying was true. He was planning on cleaning the full house and Tim had invited him to stay. Jon had never met a wizard before, and Martin wasn't what he had been expecting at all. The man was soft looking, almost, with a cheerful glint to his eye and a charming accent. 

"That's interesting," Martin nodded, "I suppose we could do with a housekeeper." 

Sasha's head popped up from her book, "He made breakfast this morning for me." 

"Oh?" Martin turned to look at her, "What did you have?" 

"Bacon and eggs," Sasha wasn't paying attention to Martin, she was scrawling some notes on a blank piece of paper, "Did you mean to write this as 'worm' not 'word'?"

Martin looked impressed at Sasha's answer, "Yes, it should be worm. But you said bacon and eggs? Jon, you cooked this morning?" He picked up the teapot and poured some into each cup, offering Jon the one with the roses.

Jon nodded as he took the cup from Martin's hands, "Yes, I wanted to make something that was more substantial than bread and cheese, but I can pay you back of course." 

Martin waved his hand, dismissing the idea outright, "Nonsense. I'm just surprised, usually Tim doesn't let anyone cook on him but me." 

"He bullied me," Tim's voice came from across the room. He seemed settled back into place now, comfortable and glowing the bright colours that Jon had identified in his face, "He's an asshole." 

"Even if he had bullied you," Martin called over his shoulder, "That wouldn't excuse rudeness to our guests." 

"Well, he did!" Tim cried out in exasperation, "He's cruel." 

Jon found himself shrinking as Tim spoke, something that Martin had noticed. "Enough, Tim." Martin's voice was sharp and commanding.

The fire demon sunk behind his logs, sulking no doubt. Martin was about to say something more when there was a knocking on the door and a clanking from the lever that was in the entryway. "Excuse me," Martin said as he got up, "I have to get this." 

Martin stood up and brushed his clothes down, as he did the comfortable jumper he was wearing was transformed into a rather stunning robe. He opened the door, seemingly crossing the distance between where he had been and where he was in seconds. The noise from the other side of the door was different to the wind that whistled on the Plains, or the horse carts and distant shouting of London. Jon stood up and hobbled to the entryway, peering over Martin's shoulder. 

A young man, well dressed, was stood in the doorway with a bag of coin in his hand that clinked as it moved. "Excuse me, Wizard Newall?" 

"Yes?" Martin asked, unfazed. 

"Here's your payment for the seven-league boots you made for my master." The coin changed hands; Jon's eyes widened as he thought about how much money that would actually be. Even if it was all copper, that would be something to behold. 

"Thank you," Martin gave a polite nod, bordering on a bow, "I shall be available if your master ever wishes to call upon my services again." 

The messenger gave a small salute, "I shall pass that on, sir." 

"No problem," Martin's voice was light and breezy, "And tell your friends that we're open til dark if they're interested in anything for themselves." 

"I will, sir." The other man gave a quick, polite nod and turned to leave. 

Martin pocketed the coin and turned back into the main room. "I do rather hate it when they pay me via courier," He shook his head, "It feels impolite." 

Jon had some idea of what Martin meant, it was always best to make deals with your customers direct, not through a third party. Even though most of his deals were made through Georgie or Gerry, they understood his skills as well as he did, so they were best to negotiate with any customers themselves. 

"Ah, is that the time?" Martin muttered, looking at one of the clocks, all of them different times, that was hung on the wall of the room. "Please excuse me, Jon, I have somewhere to be rather urgently. I'm sure you'll find some way to entertain yourself til I return." 

Jon found himself lost for words, the casual nature of Martin accepting him into his home was strange, but the lack of a confirmation, a serious agreement of his employment, was even worse. Jon watched as the wizard grabbed bits and pieces from several jars on the wall and slipped them into a pouch by his side. "Tim," Martin called out, "I will need you to unlock my door, I'll be back before dark I should hope, but if I'm not then there's no need to worry, I'll be back late." 

Tim grumbled, rolling his eyes, but the door made that odd clicking sound again as the lever changed to yet another position. Jon took a deep breath and picked up the bucket he'd started earlier for the table, getting ready to begin to scrub down each and every one of the surfaces in the room. Martin didn't say anything more, but he did give a cheerful whistle as he left, a jaunty tune that reminded Jon of the songs that the drunks would sing as they came home when the taverns closed. 

Bucket in hand, position in the house secured, and armed with an iron will, Jon set about cleaning the house. 


	7. In Which Martin Expresses His Feelings With Slime

Jon's back and knees ached in a way he had been unaware they could hurt. He'd wiped down every surface, piling the knickknacks and trashing the disposable things where they were superfluous or unnecessary. He stacked items that were alike next to one another and gave each spot a mental label for what would go where once he began rearranging the room. With all of the surfaces cleaned, and all of the drawers upended and sorted, Jon found himself a bit lost for what to do next. After throwing multiple pages of scrawled handwriting, after checking with Sasha that it wasn't important, and stacking the mismatched china together, the idea that the floor would need to be cleaned popped into his head. He'd asked Tim to make more hot water, and asked Sasha to find some soap shavings to mix into it. The pair had snapped to attention when he'd asked, both of them clearly a little unnerved by the ferocity with which he was attacking the chores. 

He'd been on his hands and knees since, scrubbing at the floor. It was so disgustingly dirty he was surprised the floorboards hadn't started growing mould and mushrooms. That thought reminded him of the bathroom, which he was fairly sure had mushrooms growing in the shower drain. The thought made his stomach churn, how could anyone live in a house like this? Jon had never thought of himself as fussy, but perhaps he was being fussy if this was how Martin, Sasha and Tim were content to live. Perhaps they were the normal ones and he was the odd one? 

With the last of the floor scrubbed to within an inch of its life, Jon clambered to his feet, his joints stiff and painful. "Tim," his voice croaked as he spoke, "I could use another cup of tea." 

"Is that a polite way of telling me you'll be dumping the kettle on my head again?" Tim asked, chewing on a fragment of his latest log. 

Jon laughed, "I suppose it is." 

"Excellent." Tim groaned, shuffling in his place. 

Jon picked up the metal kettle from the hearth, cold now, and refilled it with water from the same jug that Martin had used before. As he looked at it, the water level inside the jug didn't seem to be getting any lower. "Is this magic?" 

"Everything here is magic," Tim sighed, "It's part of the charm, apparently." 

"Oh." 

Sasha popped her head over the book stack she'd created, "If you're making some, I'll have one." 

"Sure," Jon nodded, "where is the tea though?" 

Sasha stood up and stretched, pulling one elbow with her other arm and twisting her waist. "Don't worry about it, I'll make it." 

"Is this a usual day?" Jon asked, "Without me cleaning." 

"Uh, sort of." Sasha nodded as she pulled a glass jar from a shelf, "It's a bit quiet today. Usually, we have more custom than this." 

Jon nodded, "Ah, that makes sense. You did mention having shops across the kingdom." 

"Yeah, and usually it means that we get customers at all hours. I guess that's more normal, getting them when they're not being seen by their neighbours. Lunch breaks, after dark, you know." 

There was a companionable silence that fell between them as Sasha made the tea, hanging the kettle above Tim's head. Tim seemed disgruntled, but didn't complain. Jon looked around the room, happy with what he'd managed to do in the hours since Martin had left. Jon hoped that he would like it. 

Jon's wandering led him back to the bathroom, where different potions and powders lined the walls so that he couldn't actually make out the colour of the wallpaper, or tiles, or whatever it was on the walls. Martin took a sniff of the room, it didn't smell unclean, but it was musty and in dire need of airing. Jon stood in the doorway, hands on his hips. 

"Well, this is a mess." He muttered to himself, "I'm not sure where to start." 

Sasha stood behind him, a cup of tea in hand. "Oh, I suppose this is a bit of a mess, huh?" 

Jon took the tea from her gratefully, holding the cup by the handle and resting it on his other palm. "I guess when you live with the mess for long enough it fades into the background."

Sasha nodded, "Something like that, I guess." 

As Jon took a sip of his tea, sweet and fruity, and leaned on the door frame. The door clicked open and Martin walked in, his chipper attitude diminished. Jon watched as he walked, seeming a lot smaller than he had that morning. His shoulders were turned into one another, his head bowed and his feet shuffling. He seemed worried, distracted. 

"Hi Martin, tea?" Sasha asked, pouring herself a cup from the teapot that she'd refilled. 

Martin's voice was quiet, "Yes, please."

Sasha poured the tea into the star covered cup and placed it on the table next to her. She settled back into her seat and continued to read her books and take notes. "It's on the side." She announced to the room. Martin didn't pick it up as he walked past, but he slumped on one of the chairs that Jon had cleared off and moved back in front of the hearth. 

"You don't look so good," Tim said, "What's wrong?" 

Martin said nothing, but he was staring into the flames, ignoring Tim's face. 

Jon shuffled back over to the table and left his cup there, picking up Martin's and bringing it over to the chair he was sat in. "Your tea?" 

Martin looked up at him and blinked for a moment, before giving him a smile, "Ah, thanks, wouldn't want it to get cold." 

Jon wasn't sure what to say to him, so he just gave another tight smile and a nod. 

The wizard held his tea in his hands, the slump of his shoulders and gloomy face made Jon uncomfortable. He wasn't sure what would have had to have happened to upset the wizard so, but it had clearly been something important. Jon wasn't sure what he could do to ease the tension that hung in the air around him. Sasha seemed to be ignoring it, and Tim was entertaining himself by making the logs spark as much as he could. 

"What happened Martin?" Tim asked with a sigh, rolling his eyes, "You're dulling my shine here."

Martin looked up at Tim and shook his head, "It's nothing, really, just got some bad news." 

Sasha put down, and closed, her book. She walked over, resting a hand on the back of the chair that Martin was sitting in. "What's the news?" 

Martin heaved a sigh, his whole body shifting as he got ready to tell the room something that seemed to be important to him. As he did, the cup in his hand slipped. Jon watched it fall, almost as though it were in slow motion, before the delicate china slammed down onto the floor and shattered into multiple pieces. The white china of the inside of the cup was visible, the star patterns of the outside glinted with gold and silver and the tea that had filled the cup splashed all over the newly cleaned floor. 

There was a frozen moment in time before Martin's response, a long guttural groan. He dropped his head into his hands as the noise turned into a wailing keen. The temperature in the room dropped suddenly, the windows were covered in crystallised ice that spider-webbed from the corner towards the centre of each pane. Sasha's hand ripped back from the chair as she backed up several paces, Tim shrunk down between the logs, his flame colours darkening down into a deep blue-purple combination. 

Sasha grabbed Jon's arm and tugged him back, "You don't wanna be near him when he's like this." 

"When he's like what?" Jon asked, panicking. The noises were getting louder, harsher on his ears, as the room began to fill with shadows that leered in overhead and blocked out the light coming from each of the windows, and even managing to shrink Tim's sphere of light too. 

Sasha was tugging them towards the door, already had her other arm outstretched to tug the lever into the correct position for the door to open to spit the pair of them out into the wider world. "When he's having a meltdown!"

Jon had no idea what that meant, but he wiggled free of Sasha's grasp and took a stride forward, peering around the side of the chair and seeing something that turned his stomach in a way he had never been prepared for. Martin seemed to be melting, like wax, his face falling off and dripping down his arms. The knitted weave of his jumper was leaking, the fluid that Martin was turning into flowing like molasses through each of the holes. Jon felt bile rising in his throat. 

"We need to stop this!" He shouted back at Sasha, "He's- he's goo!"   
Sasha made an annoyed grunt, tearing herself from the front door and racing back over to Jon and Martin. Tim was almost unable to be seen, cowering under the logs. His light didn't stretch much past the hearth now, the shadows seemed to be getting thicker, darker, and closer. 

"Tim, what do we do?!" Sasha asked, the panic in her voice was jarring and sharp. 

Tim's eyes popped over the top of his logs, "He needs to calm down."

"And how do we do that?" Jon asked, standing upright for what seemed to be the first time since he was cursed old. 

Tim made the universal noise that signified he didn't know. "I've never seen him this bad before!" 

Sasha butted in, "I've only seen him like this once before. He'd burnt dinner." 

Jon frowned, the noises around him making it hard to think. First, they had to stop Martin from doing this, then they had to clean up. He had no idea how to do either of those things with the noise and the cold seeping into his bones. 

"We're going to take him to the bathroom first." He announced, speaking louder to be able to be heard over the wailing, "Tim can you heat the water for the bath?" 

"The bath?" Tim shouted, the only way to be heard now that the noise was getting louder and louder, "What are you thinking?!"

"Just do it!" Sasha snapped, bracing herself on the back of the chair that Martin was sat in. "We're going to push him in there!" 

Jon nodded the affirmative as he helped to twist the chair towards the bathroom door. Once he was in position, Sasha began pushing the chair. The slime that was falling in waves off of the wizard made gripping the chair difficult and the floor hard to keep their feet planted on, but it meant that the chair had something to slide on. Between the pair of them, the chair slipped and slid its way across the wooden floor, catching only a couple of times on the slightly uneven floorboards.   
By the time the chair reached the bathroom, Jon and Sasha were both covered in the goo, their shoes squelching with it. The noises sounded like screaming now, and the darkness was closing in behind them, only fought off by the slight shine of Tim as he did his best to keep control over everything that he could. 

Jon let go of the chair and slipped through the doorway before Sasha could push Martin through. The claw footed bathtub was on the other side of the room, but there was already hot water pouring from the metal taps. It was almost to the brim of the bath. Jon turned the taps back to turn them off and dunked his hand into the water, it was warm enough to feel hot to his frozen skin, but not enough to burn. 

"We're good!" He shouted over the noise as he returned to Sasha, who nodded at him, gritted her teeth and pushed the chair over the edge of the bathroom floor. The chair tilted and Martin slipped forward. Jon dashed across the bathroom and grabbed the wizard by his shoulders and pushed him back into the chair. Sasha reached around from the back of the armchair and pinned him to it as she rested her hip against the back of the chair and pushed again. 

The chair made a horrific scraping noise against the floor as she shoved it into the room as Jon pulled from the chair's arms. It was almost as bad as the infernal screeching that Martin was creating. The pair of them winced at the noise, bringing their movements to a halt. Martin let out a small moan, the first noise he'd made since this whole thing had started. 

"Can we just dunk him in the bath like this?" Sasha shouted. 

Jon shook his head. "Get his jumper off!" 

Sasha looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "No!"

"Just do it!" He snapped back, "If you want this to stop, you have to!" 

Sasha seemed surprised by Jon's attitude, but she let go of the back of the chair and knelt in front of him, tugging at the bottom of his jumper to pull it over his head. Jon grabbed the other side of the jumper and the pair of them tugged it, slime and goo included, and pulled it off of Martin. The shirt underneath was plastered to his body, and neither of them felt able to strip the wizard of that. Sasha tugged his shoes off and threw them into the corner of the room. The pair of them got under each of the wizard's arms, hoisting him upright as though he had no control over his own body and moved him into the bath. 

The water level was still too high and the shock of the wizard's full body being submerged in the bath caused it to slosh over and soak both Jon and Sasha. The moment his head dropped under the water the screaming noises stopped and the freezing temperatures abated. They were both able to help manoeuvre the wizard into a more comfortable position in the bath and sat next to it, gasping for breath after the exertion.

"Martin, if you can hear me, you owe me one." Sasha mumbled, resting her forehead on her knees, "And you're buying me new clothes." 


	8. In Which Jon Sees A Face At The Door

With Martin in the bath, Jon clambered to his feet and dusted himself off. The goop on his clothes came off in thick globules, dropping in splatters as he waded through the goo that Martin had dripped everywhere. His bones ached, his chest hurt and he felt sick.

"Just... look after him." Jon croaked as he left the bathroom, leaving Sasha to care for the wizard. He surveyed the mess that was left in the front room, thick ropes of the goo coated the floor and seemed to be pooling into puddles where they sat. He'd just scrubbed the floor. 

Tim seemed to have recovered just fine, he was pushing away anything that had been covered in the goo with one of the burnt ends of a log. "Glad that stopped." 

"Yeah, me too." Jon sighed, "But now I have to clean again." 

"Good thing you're the housekeeper." Tim laughed, "Otherwise this would never get cleaned." 

"Thanks." Jon said drily, his knees already aching in anticipation of the work that was ahead of him. "Do you have any idea what that was about?" 

Tim shrugged, "He does that when things get too much." 

"Every time?" 

"Often enough." Tim was pushing away a glob that was now coated in ashes, "He's a sensitive soul really." 

Jon nodded, "I'm sure he is, but this seems like a tantrum or something." 

"Tantrum is the wrong word," Sasha said as she left the bathroom, wiping her hands down on her trousers, "It's not like he does it for attention from what I can see." 

"What's a better word?" Jon asked, heading to the cupboards to pull out yet more rags to clean the floor with. 

Sasha and Tim looked at each other, not quite sure what to say. Tim gave a shrug and Sasha shook her head, "No idea, but tantrum implies he gets to control it. It's more like a total stress meltdown." 

Jon nodded, sort of understanding what that meant. "Okay... How's he doing?" 

Sasha wobbled her flat hand in the way that meant she wasn't sure. Her face was one of distress and worry, but she wasn't going to say that out loud. Jon understood that feeling all too well. 

"Do we have a broom or something?" He asked, "I think we could push the worst of this out onto the plains like I did with the ashes when I cleaned the hearth out." 

"Sure," Sasha dashed up the stairs, trailing slime the whole way. Jon felt himself wincing as he thought about how much more work that would have created. He hadn't even started on the bathroom properly, so worrying about upstairs was far too much in advance of the immediate issue. Sasha came racing down the stairs, an old wooden broom in hand. She offered it to Jon and he took it with a firm grasp. He realised as he did so that his hands were beginning to shake, the aftermath of the adrenaline rush probably. His chest felt tight. 

"Thanks," He said as he got to work, "Can you open the door to the plains please?" 

Sasha gave him a thumbs up as she rushed past him and swung the door open, ready for him to brush the worst of it outside. 

He got to work, collecting the goop in a pile and shoving it with the hard bristles of the broom away from him and towards the doorway. He wanted to scream at something, all of the effort he'd put into this was absolutely wasted and he had never felt more disrespected in his life. He could feel his movements being harsh and hard, jerking as he threw his body weight behind each sweep of the broom. His anger boiled over as he shoved the last of the gloop out of the door into the open air between the door and the grassy plains as he looked back at the slime trail that was pouring out of the castle like a snail's trail. It was disgusting! 

Sasha seemed to have disappeared again as he had worked, the bathroom door was closed and there seemed to be some murmurings of chatter behind it. Jon wasn't sure if that was Sasha talking to herself or if that was her and Martin having a chat, but either way the noise was irritating. Tim seemed to be wanting something, but Jon was actively ignoring him as he worked, getting ready to scrub the floors down again. 

"What do you want?" He snapped at Tim. 

The fire demon seemed a little hesitant to ask, but gave in under the pressure of Jon's intense glare. "I was wondering if you would, uh, be able to leave a pile of logs a bit closer to me so I can grab them when I need them." 

Jon dropped the broom with a clatter and stormed over to the logs, hauling them up onto the heath and slamming them down next to Tim. "Is that close enough for you?"

Tim nodded, shying away from Jon's anger, "That's fine, thanks." 

"I don't want you to ask me anything for the next hour at least, I'm busy!" 

Tim nodded, "Got it." 

Jon slammed around for a while longer, scrubbing the floorboards to within an inch of their lives and washing them down with boiling water. The goo was completely gone not that long after Jon had started his cleaning rampage, which had in turn ended up with him scrubbing his way up the stairs and whisking all the spiderwebs from the ceiling until the old wooden ceilings glowed. He was so lost in his anger that he didn't hear the bathroom door open, or Martin and Sasha leave it. It was only when Martin's voice broke the silence in the room that Jon realised he had been in a cleaning frenzy for long enough.

"Sorry." 

Jon snapped to attention, the anger dissipating immediately. 

Martin looked genuinely upset at himself, really disappointed in his own actions. "I didn't mean for that to happen." 

Jon said nothing, but he didn't go back to cleaning as he had intended.

"I just... uh, there was a lot going on in my head and that's what happened." Martin was wearing a shirt that was not the one he was wearing earlier, and neither were his trousers the same as the ones that Jon had dragged him to the bathroom in. "I got overwhelmed." 

"You don't need to explain it." Jon's tone was harsher than he'd intended, and he only mildly regretted that. Here he was, stuck being the housekeeper and a cursed old man to boot, and this wizard who had the entire world at his feet undid all the hard work Jon had put into cleaning up his mess because he had a lot on his plate? 

Martin winced at the way that Jon spoke to him, clearly not used to or expecting the harsh tones. "I got some news while I was out." 

Jon didn't say anything, not wanting the wizard to think he was indulging this behaviour. 

"It seems the Queen wants me to report for duty." He announced flatly, "As both Blackwood and Newall." 

Jon failed to see how any of this was his problem. He didn't say anything, but continued staring mutely at the wizard. 

"And that means that I am going to have to go to London, report to the Queen and then likely go off to war and die." Martin laughed a little, a bitter laugh, "But hey, that's what we all signed up for when we became part of the Magicians Guild." 

Sasha offered Martin the other chair, "That's why I chose to go the home-schooled route." 

"And that was a smart move." Martin nodded at her, "But now I have to solve the problem of attending the royal appointments as both myself and my other name." 

Jon said nothing, but he turned his back on the pair of them and gathered the bucket of murky water. The two of them seemed to be happy to chat to each other as Jon carried the bucket to the door and swung it open. 

The door opened to reveal a face. 

Jon screamed, flinging the bucket at the face and slamming the door shut on it. 

Martin and Sasha were both stood behind him in seconds, ready to fight whatever it was that had caused him so much fear. The panicked look on Sasha's face was much stronger now than it had been when she had been panicking about Martin's behaviour, this was entirely new. Jon was leaning on the door, his heart hammering in his chest as he fought to keep upright. 

"What was that?" Martin asked, genuine worry on his face. 

"I-" Jon shook his head, "I don't know." 

"You don't know?" Sasha asked, seemingly relaxing a little, "Why did you scream?" 

"There was a face, not a human one..." Jon realised he may have overreacted, feeling the warmth flush his face, "I'm sorry, I'm probably just being stupid." 

Martin shook his head, "No worries, just get out of the way and we'll take a look for you." 

Sasha shot Martin a glare, "We will?" 

"We will," Martin said, a hint of steel in his voice, "Because it might be something dangerous and it's better that we deal with that than Jon does." 

Sasha understood what he was saying, and nodded. "Sure." 

"Good." Martin seemed pleased that this was cleared up, he held his hand out to Jon. Jon found himself reaching out to take it before he realised what he was doing, the soft and warm feeling of Martin's hand in his calmed the racing of his heart. It was like the way that he felt when Georgie handed him a cup of tea, or the first time that Gerry had wrapped Jon in his old coat. He almost tore his hand back, but the memory of the gaunt face staring back at him from the door made him reconsider his actions. 

Jon shuffled past the magicians and stood behind them as Sasha opened the door cautiously. There was nothing there, no face, no person, not even the hint that there could have been one. The house was moving on its mechanical legs as smoothly as it always did; the horizon far off in the distance, the little town below. 

"So, what was the face?" Sasha asked, an impressive eyebrow arched. Jon found himself thinking of Georgie and the way she would question him when something that she'd deemed important had happened. 

Jon shook his head slightly, "I just... I saw a face, like a misshapen face, like someone had dried out someone's head." 

"Could be the Wizard of the Waste?" Sasha looked at Martin, "Wouldn't put it past him." 

Martin shook his head, a curious look on his face, "Tim would have noticed it." 

"I'm sure he would have," Sasha agreed, "But he was almost put out not long ago." 

"And he can hear you," Tim's voice came from the hearth, "and he doesn't like being talked about in the third person much." 

Jon found himself smiling, he liked the way that Tim spoke to the others. He was snappy, rude at times, but seemed to genuinely care for the others. Sasha was quiet, completely absorbed in her books, but she had the sharpest mind that Jon had ever seen. Martin was still a mystery, he was the Wizard Blackwood, but he was also... nice? Caring, even. He seemed kind more than scary, although maybe that was just because Jon wasn't a threat, or couldn't be used in any of the spells that Martin wanted to cast. 

"Ah, sorry Tim." Martin looked sheepish, embarrassed. "Could you tell us what that was?" 

There was a moment before Tim responded. Clearly, he was focusing on something Jon couldn't comprehend. It seemed that his physical form was in the hearth, but he was part of, or threaded through, the rest of the house. Jon made a mental note to ask him about it at some time, perhaps it would be relevant to his deal? 

"There's something after us, lots of magic around it though, I can't quite make it out." 

"Any idea of what that means?" Martin asked, walking back into the main room so that he could see Tim. 

Tim gave him a look, "What I know, you know." 

"Oh," Martin nodded, his face suddenly serious, "Ah." 

"Ah?" Sasha asked from the doorway, "What's 'ah'?" 

Martin's face was surprisingly easy to read, even for Jon who'd not had much practice in the matter. 

"I... have someone I need to talk to." Martin said quickly, "I'll be back later."

Sasha blocked the doorway with her body, "No way. Not after what just happened." 

Martin gave her a pleading look, "I wouldn't do it if I didn't have to." 

"You don't have to." Sasha stated. "We can just be more careful, lay down more traps?" 

"That's not really an option if we don't know what we're going up against." Martin explained. "I really wouldn't if I didn't have to, Sash."

"No chance." Sasha shook her head, crossing her arms and planting her feet. "I won't let you." 

Jon watched the display. Sasha might have been Martin's assistant, but she could hold her own ground here, she was showing that now. Martin seemed unsure if he should listen to her or his gut. Sasha was actually really scary, Jon realised. He wouldn't want to fight her, even if she didn't have magic to help her. 

"Sasha, I really have to go." Martin sighed, "I have no idea about this, and I need to talk to her." 

Martin stressed the last word, meaning someone specific. Sasha's whole posture changed the second that he did, deflating from the antagonistic way she had been standing. "You mean..."

"Yeah." Martin seemed hesitant about this too, "Look, I don't like it any more than you would but she's the only person we have to talk to about this. If I can't work it out, and Tim can't see what's happening, and it's not the Wizard of the Waste..." 

"We don't know that." Sasha shook her head, "He could have changed his style." 

Martin gave her a look, almost reproachful. "Do you think he could do that?" 

Sasha had to admit defeat, stepping aside. "No, he couldn't." She rested her hand on Martin's arm, gentle and caring, "Please be careful." 

"Always am." Martin gave an unconvincing laugh. "I'll be back later. Don't stay up." 

"Don't make me." Sasha joked, the worry obvious in her voice, "I don't want to be tired tomorrow." 

"Promise I won't." Martin smiled, "I'll be back as soon as I can." 

Jon felt like he was watching a moment he shouldn't have been, something private. He wasn't sure if it would be weirder for him to watch, or him to avert his gaze and pretend he hadn't seen any of this. He had no idea, truthfully, but then he'd always struggled with the social norms that everyone else seemed to understand without thought. 

Martin grabbed a jacket, the same one he'd taken off earlier, and slipped out of the door. Sasha's worried eyes followed him as he disappeared over the threshold. 

The air was heavy and silent, tension thick, before Sasha broke the silence with a shake of her head, "I hate it when he goes to see Gertrude." 


	9. In Which Jon Realises A Mistake

Martin had been gone for hours, neither Tim nor Sasha seemed their usual selves. Both were slow to respond when Jon asked them for any help, and he was keeping himself busy with as much work as he could. He knew his body would hate him for this in the morning but that didn't matter now, his mind needed the activity to stop himself from asking about this Gertrude that Martin was visiting, the one that Sasha seemed so scared of. And he was sure something had happened between Martin and Tim, something he couldn't describe. The atmosphere was tense, even Tim's light wasn't doing what it had done the previous night.

Sasha seemed to be sticking by her word of waiting for Martin to return, but she was stifling yawns every twenty minutes or so now, and it would be worse the longer she stayed up. Gerry was like that too, when he hadn't slept for long enough, he couldn't hide it. Jon had used to send him to bed, meaning that Gerry could be found curled up on Jon's bed when he was meant to be downstairs working in the shop. Grandma had never minded too much, she liked him too much. It was sweet, sort of. She'd liked Jon's friends a lot, but her attitude towards Jon had been hit-and-miss.

Jon felt his chest twist thinking about it and redirected his attention to the stubborn spot of grime he was trying to get off of the wall. There'd been chalk marks scrawled on the walls, almost like a toddler had done them, but those were gone now. He sort of hoped they weren't some kind of magical spell, but it wasn't likely that magic could be washed away with a damp rag so he'd decided they weren't. Sasha wasn't very talkative at the best of times, but her tension now was making it almost impossible to ask anything more about magic. He wanted to learn as much as he could to find out what the Wizard of the Waste had done to him, but that would have to wait until Martin was back.

His body was giving up on him, so Jon threw down his rag and stomped over to the chair in front of the fire. He sat down, and suddenly understood why some people said that joints creaked. "Bugger."

"You alright?" Tim asked, seemingly glad for the distraction from his own thoughts.

Jon nodded, "Just not used to being old."

Sasha's head popped up, "Huh?"

Tim gave him a wide-eyed look that meant 'don't say anything more'. Jon realised what he'd said. Stupid. He thought about what his grandma would have said in this situation and copied her, "I feel like I was a young man just last week. I'm sure you'll know what that's like some day."

The fire gave him a little nod and what looked like a thumbs up. Sasha had already returned to her books. Jon felt his heart clench as he gave Tim a look of relief.

"Hey, Tim?" Jon leaned forwards, "Can I ask something?"

"You just did." Tim laughed at his own joke before waving a little fiery hand, the tendrils of his fingers disappearing into each other. "What's up?"

Jon considered how to ask what he wanted to know, "Well, I just... Who's Gertrude?"

Sasha shut her book, "She's a bitch is who she is."

Tim nodded, "Sasha's not wrong, honestly."

She left the table and joined the duo by the fire, sitting in the chair that had been Martin's only this morning and was probably still a bit damp from the wash that Jon had put it through. Sasha kicked her feet up onto the hearth and sighed, leaning her head back into the bulk of the soft chair, "It's not that I hate her for no reason, ok? She's just... She's awful."

"Okay," Jon nodded, "But who is she?"

Tim took over, "She's a Witch, like, a really good one. Sasha actually asked if she would teach her, and Gertrude said no."

"Oh." Jon gave Sasha a glance, "Sorry about that."

Sasha flapped a hand, waving away the apology. "Don't worry about it, I'm glad she did. She's a good Witch, but she's a shitty person."

"How so?" Jon found himself asking.

"Her last couple of assistants went missing for no explainable reasons, and there's a few theories." Sasha sighed, "My money is on that she was so unpleasant that they all ran away from her."

Tim shook his head, "Nah, definitely that she cursed them into animals. Or burnt them. I wonder if she's got a fire demon..." His voice trailed off, seemingly this was a train of thought that entertained him quite a lot.

"So, you think she's a bad person because her assistants went missing?" Jon asked, "Surely they didn't actually just like, go missing."

"Well, no one has heard from them since they signed on with her, and she keeps taking more assistants." Sasha sighed, sinking further into the comfortable chair, "I worry about Martin when he's over there, I think they have quite a history."

Jon let that sit in the air for a moment before he asked another thing that had been itching in the back of his head, "How long have you been with Martin?"

Sasha gave him a slow smile, "Only about ten years or so."

Jon frowned, "But you're... well, you're young?"

"Yep!" Sasha grinned, "And so's Martin, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we're both strong as fuck." She laughed, "Our magical talents manifested when we were young, not like most magicians. We were both strong headed kids to the rest of the magical world, although I suppose in my case, I was an actual kid. Martin wasn't, I don't think?"

"Nah," Tim interrupted, "He was also a kid. Think he was sixteen, maybe seventeen when we met."

Jon's eyebrows raised, "And how did you meet?"

Tim gave Jon a toothy grin, one that managed to be actually quite menacing, "Well that's for me to know, and for you to find out."

Sasha patted Jon's arm, "Don't worry, they haven't told me either."

At least he wasn't alone in not knowing.

"Where is he?" Sasha asked, tracing the cracks between the bricks on the hearth with the toe of her shoes, "I don't like that he's been gone this long, she's just down the road."

"What do you mean?"

Sasha looked up from the cracks, "Like, she's literally just down the road. About ten miles out at most."

"Closer to seven on this side of the Plains." Tim said, "I'm trying to keep us as close to the pathway as we can without stopping."

"You mean she's in a town around here?"

Sasha nodded, "Mhmm, she says she likes the fresh air. Martin says something similar. Maybe it's just me that doesn't get it, I'd rather be living in London."

"That's because you want fame, fortune and a lot of money." Tim grinned at her.

She kicked ash from the hearth at him, "Shut up! That's not true!"

"Yeah, it is, that's why you're blushing right now." Tim laughed.

They seemed less worried now that they'd been able to talk about this, Jon felt comforted by that fact. They were human. Well, Sasha was human, Jon had no idea what to expect from Tim, but this wasn't it. It was nice though, their friendship. He didn't need to be involved to appreciate how deeply they must care for each other, a bit like how he must have looked when he was with Gerry and Georgie.

Jon felt sick. He'd been a total idiot.

"Gertrude, does she take students a lot?" He asked, the panic rising.

"Yeah, that's why it pissed me off she said no to me." Sasha nodded, "What's wrong?"

"My f-" Jon swallowed, "My grand-niece, she's just apprenticed with a witch from a neighbouring village. She didn't tell me a name, but I've seen her. She's short, grey hair, thick glasses and-" He willed himself to remember as much as he could about the woman that Georgie had been with in the market, "That's all I can remember." 

Tim sighed, "You've described just about every Witch ever, but yeah if she's in these parts, that's likely Gertrude." 

"Shit." Jon muttered, "What can I do about this?"

"Uh, I mean, you probably need to find your niece and like, save her." Sasha said, letting the sentence hang in the air. 

Jon groaned, his old bones feeling the full weight of the world on him. "I don't know how to do that." 

"Me neither," Sasha said, stifling another yawn.

Tim folded his flame arms over his chest, causing the logs beneath him to shift, "You need to go to bed, both of you. You're both useless like this. You're not saving anyone tonight." 

Sasha looked like she was about to argue, but another yawn convinced her otherwise. "Yeah." 

"I'll stay up for Martin." Tim offered, "And I'll wake you if he needs anything when he comes back." 

"Okay." Sasha nodded, seemingly placated by Tim's offer. 

Jon's mind was racing, he knew that the sensible thing was to go to bed, but the fear that was dancing on his chest meant that he was far too awake to sleep. "I'll stay up too." 

Tim made a noise of disapproval, "No way. You're going to bed too." 

"Where did you sleep last night?" Sasha asked. 

"In that chair." Tim waved a hand, "And it would be polite of you to offer the guest a bed." 

Sasha nodded, "We don't have any spare rooms, but I can bring down blankets and sleeping bags and stuff." 

Jon gave her a grateful smile, "That would be good, thanks." 

With a sharp nod, Sasha heaved herself out of the chair and padded upstairs. There were some muffled thuds while she was gone but nothing seemed dangerous. 

"Your niece," Tim framed the word with air quotes, "will be fine. Gertrude's not that bad."

Jon nodded, "I hope so." 

"Who is she?" Tim asked, "The girl you're worried about." 

"Uh, she's my best friend." Jon nodded, "Like a sister to me." 

"Got anyone else like that?" The fire asked. 

"Got another friend, he works at the bakery in town now." Jon found his chest aching as he thought about the pair of them. He'd left the note, that was enough to explain what had happened, but the way that they must be feeling... 

Sasha clattered down the stairs again, arms full of blankets and pillows and cushions, "I'm not sure if this is enough?" 

Tim burst out laughing at the sight of the diminutive woman almost hidden from view by the pile she was carrying. Jon pushed himself up from the seat and took the pile from her, "This is fine, thank you." 

"No problem." Sasha nodded, "I could help you if you wanted?" 

Jon shook his head, "I'll be fine, thanks. I'll get this set up now." 

Sasha nodded and covered her mouth with a hand, another yawn escaping her. 

"Go to bed!" Tim called from the hearth, "Don't make me force you." 

"Yeah, yeah," Sasha flapped a hand at him, "I'm going, just shut up."

Tim watched as Sasha ascended the stairs again and Jon laid out the blankets for him to sleep on. The house was humming along, moving at a steady pace that would allow it to circle back around to this area of the Plains by the time that the sun rose. The house was warm and well lit, but as Jon clambered into the bed that he'd made for himself, Tim snuggled into his logs, hiding the bulk of his flame. Sasha had climbed into her own bed, a book in hand. When she began to snore, Tim turned the lights in her room off. She would be up in the morning, annoyed about not having read another chapter of the book in her hand. 

The night passed, the house rocking gently as it moved. Tim found himself dozing on occasion, his eyes heavy from the excitement of the previous day. He found himself being lulled to sleep by the mechanical rhythms of the movements, the checks he had to make on each part of the house were done completely on instinct at this point, he didn't have to think about anything. The house was an extension of himself, the bellows in the belly of the beast pumping as easily as breathing for anyone else, the mechanical legs were as easily controlled as the fingers of any of the humans that lived in the house. 

When the sun rose and Tim was not yet home, Tim found himself with a pit of worry gnawing away at his stomach. It wasn't unusual for the wizard to be gone this long, Martin had a habit of disappearing when things got too much, but this was different.


End file.
